Tag Archives: Radical

LISTEN: What Does It Mean to Decolonize Travel Culture?

hey people. I hope you’re enjoying your summers as much as possible because #2k16Problems are real as fuck. I especially hope that, if you’re non-Black like me, you’re working on ensuring that #BlackLivesMatter in terms of your actions, projects, organizing, art, community engagement, interpersonal relationships, volunteer work, putting your money where your mouth is, etc. Let’s get our shit together.

With regards to that, I’m working on some BLM-related projects in Ecuador, so stay tooned. But for now, I’m sharing this talk I had* with the ever-dope Amy of Bitch Magazine on their Popaganda podcast about issues around tourism and power, the colonial tradition of travel writing and my feature essay Spend and Save: The Narrative of Fair Trade and White Saviorism that’s in their latest issue. Your engagement here and elsewhere on social media is always welcome (unless it’s a racist diatribe, of course) as are your shares and donations. Don’t forget, I’m running a crowdfunding campaign to help meet my survival needs while I work on multimedia community projects over the summer. Check out the teaser for a documentary about how traveling as a QTPOC writer led me to ask the questions I do in my work, then donate!

*My gender pronouns have changed since the podcast, where I’m referred to as she/her instead of they/them

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Disrupting the Dominant Voice of Travel Writing #Dispatch: Brian Kamanzi

I’VE BEEN CHATTING with travel writers, activists and personalities of color about their experiences navigating the media industry and the globe with an intersectional lens, while exploring themes like power, privilege, place, and identity, themes that are rarely touched on in the mainstream travel space. Read previous #Dispatches here.

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Brian Kamanzi is a Cape Town-based spoken word poet and staff writer for Abernathy Magazine committed to the social upliftment of his fellow people. He is a budding Pan-Africanist eager to make contributions to the movement and form cross-cultural connections with others in the struggle. Follow his writing online and on Twitter @BrianlKamanzi.

Bani Amor:  Tell us about yourself. How would you describe your work, your identities, and how they interact?

Brian Kamanzi:  My name is Brian Ihirwe Kamanzi, I grew up in town called Mthatha in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. My father is a patriotic Ugandan national and my mother is a South African Indian. My identities lie tied in between that of my parents. I feel an affinity for Uganda; I see myself in the people. At the same time, just by looking at me, you can see that India is represented from the tones of my skin to the darkness of my eyes that I have inherited from my beautiful mother. I have struggled between these identities.

Growing up I never felt like I had ownership of the South African identity. I still have difficulty claiming it for my own to this day. I feel like the gift of my ancestry has shown me just how arbitrary national borders are. I am an African – emphatically so. My work, through writing and  spoken word is an effort to assert myself in a world that denies me.

I write to seize control. I write because I see my story, my feelings tied with those who are denied in their own ways. I hope for my work to form part of a broader project. A Pan-African project that will give voice to the former souls who were denied that choice.

Bani:  Writing, in that sense, is kind of an aggressive act, don’t you think? I think Didion said that. I definitely think of my writing in that context, however, voices that have been historically silenced might not think like that. I think it’s something writers of color try to balance in a way

Brian:  Without question. This is an act of aggression. This is an acutely political act. I can no longer be silenced. I take great strength from the strong people all over the world who share their stories everyday. We needn’t be overlooked any longer. I have to believe that. You know?

Bani:  Def. Marginalized writers tend to have these internalized voices in their heads, the Dominant Voice, doubting that they even have the right to write. Does that make sense?

Brian: Oh yes. That rings so true. In fact I feel that pressure from other marginalised voices as well. There is a sense that you’re not good enough if you’re not a budding Toni Morrison. There is so much doubt. One is afraid to speak about Africa if you haven’t read all the major authors. It’s silencing and it’s a battle to look past it.

There is a fear that we are not good enough and I can’t deny that I don’t feel it but again I take so much strength from seeing the ordinary folk who express themselves through writing. The internet has really been such a gift for that.

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Bani: I struggle a lot with self-doubt and my work and it’s a real killer. You’re about to put pen to page and then this invisible hand stops you. All writers/creators deal with this, but for multiply-marginalized folks, it’s epidemic. Finding work that speaks to me (not at me) is like panning for gold. And what I don’t find in books, I see in social media. It’s rejuvenating.

Brian:  I feel very much the same. There is a raw sense that these are people’s emotions. Virtually unedited. Live. If not alive.  It’s incredibly affirming. It also gives the words so much dimension. I mean take your writing for example. I can only dream of Ecuador but to read your piece and to have an interaction with you about your work is amazing. It makes me feel like I can reach you. It makes me feel like indeed we are connected. Those subtle everyday thoughts from folks on widely different contexts show us that in fact maybe we aren’t all that different.

Bani:  Yup. I didn’t really care about social media until I (recently) realized how much it’s used as a tool for cross-cultural communication, allowing us to engage in conversation with other disenfranchised people, and allowing us to organize across our differences.

Brian:  I really agree on the social media front, the amount of intersectional feminists on Twitter for example is phenomenal and I really enjoy their engagements online. There is so much scope for cross-cultural dialogue.

Bani: I wanted to talk about your creative influences, folks – whether in print or not – who have helped you “find your voice.”

Brian: When it comes to creative writing, there are two figures that really gave me the strength to assert myself – Malcolm X and Steve Biko. Particularly Malcolm. His confidence, tactfulness and almost rhythmic way of speaking & writing leaves me smiling and with a fire in my chest. A fire that makes me want to raise my voice. Be productive.

With Poetry, Mama Maya Angelou is such a muse. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings hit me in places I never knew existed. Talking about Pan-African feminism, Minna Salami who is also a blogger and a writer has been such a great affirmative find as well. Straight talking, direct in a way that makes me feel like she’s talking to me. Encouraging me to do better. It’s amazing.

Bani: Mami handed me her copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X when I was 13…and the rest is history.

Brian:  Haha what an age to read his words! Malcolm is one of those figures that makes you feel uneasy about the way things are. It feels more real. Uncomfortable but closer to the truth.

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Bani:  Let’s get into travel writing. What are your thoughts on the genre?

Brian: I think that particularly in our generation, where things have opened up globally, somewhat, there is a feeling that we are now allowed to dream and have wanderlust for far away spaces and places. Unfortunately many of the stories that, personally, I’ve been fed, are told by travellers who don’t know a thing about my experience. They don’t have the capacity to experience Ghana or India the way that I do. So many stories in travel writing speak from a place of abject objectivity where all else in front of his gaze is granted colour and is sexually exoticised at his will for his aesthetic function.

I see the need for a shift and it is definitely happening. A shift that allows a more diverse array of writers to share their experiences of different contexts that doesn’t feel…let me call it “colonial.”

There is almost an invisible hierarchy of experiences. One goes to Europe for the “culture” and one goes to Africa to self-actualise in Nature. I don’t see myself in either experience. I have no desire to conquer the savanna with trophies of lions. At the same time I see no reason to hail the cultures of Europe above the great multitude that are in front of me right here. At home.

I love reading travel writing, though when it’s done through an appreciative lens. There is really nothing more satisfying than imagining far away lands and different ways of life. It sets the mind on fire. Everyone should be able to experience that. And the next generation of travel writers will open up the doors for experiences that dominant voices will never be able to hear until they check themselves.

Bani:  You touched on the ‘marketing of place’, how we’re sold these concepts of places – Europe=culture, Africa=nature, etc. Travel writing has been and continues to be the way this marketing – branding, really – gets out to the masses. How do we disrupt that tradition? I’m very much a part of the movement trying to get more people of color to share their travel experiences, but how do we do so in a way that is not so colonialist as the genre generally is?

Brian: I think it’s a fundamental problem. When we frame our travel stories as products to be marketed in a conscious manner we are commodifying each others experiences. When writers of colour engage in travel writing we have to resist the trap of emulating the existing trends. As I understand it the goal is not to colour code the status quo – it’s to change it.

The problem is that the broader tourism industry feeds off limited harmful, frankly colonial, perceptions of cultures because at the moment economic and political capital is still very much tied along those lines. Travel writing from writers of colour then must surely act disruptively in that space. We are fighting against the very exploitation of our identities. For many of us we are fighting for a right to exist in the globalised world beyond the exotic tourist depictions that our nations now represent. Travel writers of colour must write to protect spaces like Thailand. Like Zanzibar. Spaces that become overrun by wealthy white folk from across the globe who run off to the 3rd world whenever the exchange rate is low.

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Bani:  Word, word, word. So we’re gonna wrap up. Do you have any final thoughts you’d like to add?

Brian:  Well in closing I’d like to mention the need for coalitions. I think we need to forge strategic connections across the globe and open our homes to one another to break the cycles that are really not working in our favour. In this the age of information there are really all the means and opportunities in the world.

For example, Africans and Latin Americans have so much shared history. We need to arrange more opportunities for us to meet and exchange stories. We need more deliberate attempts to speak to one another. To engage with one another. To welcome one another as the family that we are.

That’s my hope for this generation of writers. Let’s see how things unfold.

Stay True to Your Roots #Dispatch: Miyuki Baker

 

I’VE BEEN CHATTING with travel writers, activists and personalities of color about their experiences navigating the media industry and the globe with an intersectional lens, while exploring themes like power, privilege, place, and identity, themes that are rarely touched on in the mainstream travel space. Read previous #Dispatches here.

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Miyuki is a resident of the place where circles overlap. As a queer, multi-racial/lingual female mixed-media artist, she is happiest when working with people who embrace intersectionality and creativity. After graduating from Swarthmore College in 2012, she received the Watson Fellowship to travel the world in search of queer artists and activists and made 8 zines highlighting what she learned under her publishing house Queer Scribe Productions.  She is a freelance artist, journalist, barber, translator, seamstress, lecturer and performer. Contact her at heymiyuki at gmail dot com.

Bani Amor: Tell us about yourself. How would you describe what you do?

Miyuki Baker: I’m a queer woman of color artist, activist and explorer.  I make things and tell stories in the hopes that they will shed light on our shared humanity.

BA: How does place influence/factor into your work?

MB: Since I’ve been on the road since May 2012, I’d say place influences my work quite a bit. I feel like the work of documenting and chronicling what I see and experience in new places is heavily affected by the fact that I’m parachuting in and then leaving a couple of months later. It forces me to make intense connections quickly and try to minimize the feeling of dislocation for myself.  It makes me think about the outsider/insider perspective a lot and to be sensitive to/respectful of the local politics of the place I’m in.

BA: Tell us about Queer Scribe Productions and the International Art/Activism Zine Project.

MB: In May 2012, I started a 14 month trip around the world to make zines about queer art and activism. I ended up going to 15 countries and making zines about 8 of them which you can see in full color at queerscribe.com I was particularly interested in finding how the local culture, politics, history, geography etc. affected the media used by artists and activists in queer communities. For example, the opening of a queer film festival in Bangalore, India has encouraged many more locals to try their hands at film making.

I also performed in most of the countries I visited as a way to give back to communities, but most of the time I was trying to meet as many different kinds of queer artists and activists, attending events, lectures and festivals.

BA: Did you encounter any challenging conditions while traveling with your project?

MB: Initially it was that I had my camera, laptop and cell phone stolen within the first couple of months of my trip. I’d say I got over each episode pretty quickly but there were moments where I wanted to put more into the zines but couldn’t because I didn’t have a personal computer. I made all of the zines on borrowed computers or in internet cafes. Ultimately, it was because I didn’t have an electronic barrier that I was able to jump into more social situations so it was a blessing in disguise.

Other than that, my first couple of weeks in Buenos Aires were rough because despite how overt gay culture is there, it felt extremely commercial and not at all what I was expecting. It took me a lot longer there than anywhere else to find any radical queer activists who welcomed me.

BA: What did you learn about international queer communities, if anything?

MB: I’d hope that I learned something about international queer communities after 14 months of focusing on it 😉 It’s almost too daunting to say anything in such a small space but I’ll say that I learned the importance of both staying true to your roots (or revitalizing your roots/indigenous traditions) and also adapting. Things are always in flux but I found the sticky tentacles of colonization contaminating most places. In those situations you just have to find a happy medium! And many vibrant queer communities around the world were doing just that 🙂

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BA: Why did you choose zines to be the medium for your project? How would it have been different otherwise?

MB: I specifically chose zines for their DIY and low-budget nature (except the time when I printed in color–eek!). I wanted a medium that wouldn’t be pretentious and could be easily/cheaply distributed.  I found that performing was great on site, but to share different stories, I can’t imagine using anything other than zines.

BAWhich QTPOC* artists/writers/projects inspire your work? What would you like to see more of?

Aami Atmaja, Tania de Rozario, Louise Chen, Elisha Lim, Aryakrishnan Ramakrishnan…
I’d like to see more collaborations!

BA: Anything you’d like to add before we wrap up?

Subscribe to my illustrated blog at heymiyuki.wordpress.com where I draw and write about travel, art and food every week 🙂

Also, I’m raising funds to become a yoga teacher. Visit my campaign at igg.me/at/miyukiyoga to see my amazingly edited (just kidding, I did it on iMovie) film and support me in exchange for zines, custom portraits, prints and more!

Germany The Queer Edition
* QTPOC – Queer and/or Trans People of Color

Everywhere All The Time #2 Now Available on Etsy!

Everywhere All The Time #2: Bright Sunny Days, Dark Sacred Nights is the second issue of my travel media zine featuring stories from a year spent traveling and living in Ecuador. From hiking in the northern highlands to a shack on the Pacific coast, the zine spans terrain, time and mood through text and black and white photos. The writing is influenced by my identities – queer, mestiza, POC, feminist, writer, weirdo – and is cut by quotes from Junot Díaz, Gloria Anzaldúa and James Baldwin. 36 pages, typewritten/handwritten and some computer writing, black and white with color cover. Order here!

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No Hay Puentes Submission Deadline Extended!

Accepting travel stories + artwork for a Spanish-language zine anthology

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are you:

  • latinx

  • consider yourself among the latinx/chicanx diaspora

  • come from a spanish-speaking country, directly or 2nd, 3rd generations, whatever!

do you:

  • have a story about traveling in latin america

  • have any kinda travel-related art lying around – DRAWINGS, photos, photos of graff/street art around the world

  • have random travel ephemera – train/plane/bus tickets, maps, handwritten maps, flyers, magic stuff you bought back from the road

then you gotta:

  • send that shit right over!

  • no other choice!

  • by september 15!

i’m collecting travelogues, lists, adventure stories, thoughts on place, and pretty much anything poignant and written well for a spanish-language anthology of travel stories in latin america. spanglish or english is cool too, since we’ll be translating it for an english edition (but if you can, spanish please!) zine will be half page, black and white. no need to send your art in in b+w, just keep in mind it will be copied that way. 1,000 word entry limit, but we’re flexible. send whatever you got to heyitsbani@gmail.com by september 15. internationally-syndicated multi-lingual zine yo, get in on this! tell EVERYONE. baniamor.com.

Caminante, no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andar. Voyager, there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks.

Gloria E. Anzaldúa

The Revolution Will Not Be Industrialized

Originally published on MatadorNetwork.com Click the link and comment, mofos!

WHILE I WAS traveling north on the Ecuadorian Pacific coast last month, I met a group of local artisans in the town of Súa who work with natural materials and, through their community organization, educate youth on Afro-Ecuadorian culture. They weave, sew, carve, collect, and create traditional instruments from resources that wash onto shore or grow in the mangrove forests surrounding town.

The space they’ve been using for a decade is rustic at best, and without any help from the government, they’re struggling to make ends meet as artists. Due to a chance encounter with the in-country project director for the Heartful Giving Project, an international development organization, the group have been able to launch a crowdfunding campaign that wraps up on August 1. They’re raising money to build a sustainable community art space to work, teach classes in, and use as a showroom to promote positive tourism in Súa. Read more about the campaign at theheartfulgivingproject.com.

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When Spanish conquistadors first landed on Ecuadorian soil, they were so astonished to be greeted by indigenous leaders adorned with precious emeralds that they named the region Esmeraldas. Centuries later, the name still suits it. From its stretch of the Pacific to the dense, endangered mangroves that spread north toward Colombia, and hills feathered by palms and other flora endemic to the Chocó biogeographic region, Esmeraldas is recognized throughout Ecuador as the “Green Province.” But despite its wealth in natural resources, the area remains neglected in terms of basic infrastructure and vastly marginalized at the expense of its 70% Afro-Ecuadorian population, the greatest concentration of blacks in Ecuador.

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Ten years ago, Alphonso ‘Toto’ German and a group of his friends formed Manglares de Súa, the Súa Mangrove Center, and set out to work in this bamboo, wood, and straw space gifted to them from its previous owner. “He gave it to us — not the government or municipality — under the condition that we use it for the people and for the arts. These are traditional handicrafts incorporating natural materials from our Green Province. We want to present a better space to attract positive tourism to Súa.” Their income is seasonal with the (meager) influx of tourists that overflow from the nearby surf and party city Atacames during peak months, but they also sell through the fair-trade company Adonya Imports. From left to right: Ismael, Cesar, Alphonso ‘Toto,’ Antonio, Edwin, and Martin.

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The first thing I noticed upon walking onto the uneven dirt floor of the community art studio were crafts wet from the rainfall of the night before. The roof is made of layered banana leaves punched with huge holes over time, and a slight breeze streams straight through the shelter’s walls. “I’ve made everything. This guitar, by hand. That marimba, by hand. Those maracas too. When it rains, it leaks through the holes in the roof and destroys our work.” Though it’s beautiful and relaxed, the center is clearly no longer suited to meet the artists’ needs.

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Súa is all flip flops softly smacking the dirt road or occasional concrete sidewalk laid out in the pattern of a honeycomb. Black men drive blue taximotos along the seaside promenade, and since it’s Saturday, couples stroll along its cove-like stretch of beach. The water is a translucent green stretching toward a blue band at the top, held at each end by high cliffs where mangroves grow. The trees are seriously threatened due to overproduction of the town’s #1 export: shrimp. I ask Toto what he thinks the new center will do for Súa: “We’re relaxed people, but the situation is bad for the kids. They drink a lot, work hard, then drink. The next day it’s the same. With this [he gestures to the pavilion around us] we can play music and dance. That’s what the people really want.”

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“I’ve always been buena onda with everyone in town. I’ve always wanted to better Súa, and my community in general.” Walking along the beach, it was clear that everyone knew and respected Toto. A young single father of two girls, Toto never set foot in any kind of learning institution and relies on seasonable income to support his family. Throughout our interview, he spoke softly, passionately, and only averted his gaze once. “I’ve never really told anyone that, just now, to you.” It was clear that, though I’d spent most of my life organizing for social change movements, Toto had more spine in his left pinky than most people I’ve met have in their whole bodies.

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The marimba is the xylophone’s great, great African grandmother, made of different materials in the regions it has passed through over time. Most in Ecuador look like this, thick bamboo tubes tied to strips of African palm tree trunk that resonate with a light echo when hit with mallets. Accompanied by shakers, call-and-response singing, and a traditional dance called currulao, the music creates a wandering, joyful ambience. Afro-Ecuadorians descend from the 23 slaves that escaped from a shipwreck in 1533, those who escaped via the Colombian jungle, and those who were brought over from Spain. For many Esmeraldeños, marimba music is the ultimate expression of freedom.

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This is a type of Spondylus, a sign of wealth, sacred power, and a form of currency for the pre-Columbian peoples of what are now parts of the Peruvian and Ecuadorian coasts. The ancient trade route runs through some of South America’s best Pacific beaches, where you can buy shells like this from early-rising collectors.

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Walls are eroding away with the help of a devastating termite infestation.

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Ismael talks to neighbors from the inside of Manglares de Súa’s art center.

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Toto learned to weave coconut tree leaves into all sorts of forms as a kid from his elders. He taught the other members of his organization, but besides them, no one else in town knows how to create traditional dress or make marimbas. With a better space, they hope to host classes for local kids, and stir up a kind of renaissance in Afro-Ecuadorian culture.

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I grew up in a single-parent household in New York City, but as my mother is a music-obsessed Ecuadorian immigrant, the sounds of obscure Afro-Latino bands coming from our stereo and the feel of traditional, handmade instruments became the stuff of the familiar for me. There are a few famous marimberos from Esmeraldas that are known as ‘The Greats’: Papá Roncón, Remberto Escobar, and Escolástico Solís Castillo.

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In May of this year, Súa’s mayor, Freddy Saldarriaga Corral, hired foreign engineers to pave over a lot of wild land and replace it with a concrete park. They were bulldozing trees when Martin (pictured above) and other members of Manglares de Súa began assembling to halt construction, or at least express their discontent over the changes. No one in town was consulted over the park, and the destruction of tropical vegetation right in front of the cultural center came as a complete surprise. Thanks to the organization’s protest, three trees were spared, but that was after police arrested Toto for “disrupting the peace.” Behind the melodic sounds of the marimba in Súa, a concrete mixer can always be heard in the background. Here we see the site wrapped in green plastic.

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I ask Toto if there are any blacks in power in the national (or even local) government to appeal to for the needs of Esmeraldeños. “No. None. No blacks in power. They stomp on us! [He enacts this with his right foot.] We’ve always been marginalized. The government doesn’t help Esmeraldas; they’ve always neglected us. All of these places — Atacames, Muisne, Tonsupa, Esmeraldas, Súa — they’ve abandoned us all. Afro-Ecuadorians just try to survive.”

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I spent a lot of time taking macro photos at the seashell table, fascinated by the itty-bitty galaxies that seemed to gather there. These are the exoskeletons of marine mollusks that drifted onto shore, each one marked by its own exclusive history of waves, sand, and time. It was strange to visit this poor town studded by such beautiful things that just happened to be lying around.

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Toto brings it home as the sun begins to set over Súa: “I don’t do anything industrial. You see the kids selling in Atacames or Montañita — they buy those industrial materials and sell jewelry made with them for more. They’re cheap and rot. These [gesturing to the crafts above] are made by hand from natural materials only found in Súa; each is one-of-a-kind. This is natural, from here and only here. It’s made to last, and made with love.”

Read more at http://matadornetwork.com/change/the-revolution-will-not-be-industrialized-community-art-in-sua-ecuador/#hJ20mv1iyQAZP6VD.99

Boom For Real Press n’ Other Updates

hey people,

there’s a few reasons to excuse a travel writer’s lack of recent blog posts:

  1. too busy traveling
  2. too busy writing
  3. too stoned
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me and jake salt

well, who’s counting? but an extra good reason i have which was not fun while it was happening but in hindsight is a great thing – i got my double ecuadorian/american citizenship. i think of this site more as a portfolio than a blog and didn’t really clue you in on the story, but i moved to ecuador a year ago to attain nationality through my family, who are from here. i had no effing clue it would take this long and that the process would make me feel pretty miserable for a while, but i got it now and can cross the border and travel to whole other countries ’cause i got not one, but two passports. for a traveler, this news is so good it’s bad.

so now we have to talk about the zine. i just got back from mailing the first ten copies, which were ordered back in december. i’ve got to admit, this looks bad. real bad! and it hasn’t taken so long ’cause i was too busy traveling or writing or stoned, but because of TONS of formatting issues and copy machine troubles (plus that fire that melted half my typewriter.) My tiny room in Guayaquil serves as ‘the zine office’ (i sleep on the couch in the living room ’cause the office is hot as balls, and there’s no internet) where hundreds of miscopied zines are lying about in piles. there is no self-serve kind of copy shop set up in Ecuador – someone has to do it for you. everywhere all the time has been copied in student supplies shops in jungle towns, fishing villages, stationary stores in four cities, and on and on – badly. i can’t blame these folks for not understanding layout, but in the words of Gob Bluth, COME ON! i’m not going to tell you how much of my dwindling funds have been spent on bad copies.

the zine
the zine

but i’m still on a high from that time i got my ecuadorian citizenship (what i spend in copies i make up for in free healthcare!) so i’m goin’ ahead and looking for the perfect copyshop in the sky/ecuador and will print this goddam zine exactly as i want it whether it wants to be printed or not. the first ten copies that were mailed today are the best of the lot – a little out of order but otherwise quite awesome. and just to make up for all that bullshit waiting time, the first 20 orderers get the second issue free! gratis! i’ll be sending an e-mail letting you know who you is.

since this is the zine’s first copy i want it to be perfect, so the ‘miscopies’ aren’t unsightly or unreadable, they just don’t come in the order i planned it. what i’m trying to say is – they look great! so those hundreds of imperfect zines won’t go to waste; i’m selling them on etsy for $2 (plus a lil’ shipping) so you betta order that shit, ’cause those will be sent out immediately. i re-opened my old shop where i sold typewriters and named in Boom For Real Press (basquiat ref) and plan to turn it into a full-blown international travel zine distro in septemberish.

also, if you didn’t know – my last article on Matador got reprinted on Bluestockings Magazine – then now ya know. more updates on the intersection between race, place, writing and adventure are all up at facebook.com/everywhereallthetime.