Tomorrow is Today

It's International Women's Day, or was yesterday, or something. In Benin the newscasts were filled with statements from Ministers talking about the rights of women, how men don't have the right to beat them, how women should be taught about health care, especially with regards to pre-natal care, and how they have a right to an identity, to ideas, to dreams.

I raise my fist. My sisters.

I haven't left the house today. I was light out and it's getting dark. I'm in my room, sweating despite the airconditionning and my nakedness, playing Spider Solitaire on my laptop, and I'm not quite sure what time it is or where I am, except that there are kids running around outside playing in French, forcing a smile from my lips.

Earlier I was putting some candles in some empty wine bottles because later I want to light some and have a little candle-light ceremony for Brenda (as I know Brenda's friends and family are doing back home). A year ago today I was in my apartment in Toronto, avoiding my friend Dave's phone calls cuz I wasn't much in the mood for a chat, except he wasn't leaving messages and kept calling. On the third call, I think, I answered.

Had I heard? Brenda died. What? ... What?

Today as I was putting the candles in the wine bottles, I explained what I understood of Brenda's death to Mathieu. We talked about how I knew Brenda and that a big part of the reason I'm currently in Africa is because she was killed and it completely changed my perspective on life.

Every day was suddenly filled with the possibility of life and death, and every day spent in the office in Toronto wasn't.

As Björk is so fond of saying, "there's more to life than this."

Mathieu and I were supposed to go to Ouidah today. Ouidah has a python museum where they put big snakes on you so you can take pictures, and a beautiful beach, apparently. On this beach there's a huge gate to mark the spot where thousands upon thousands of slaves were shipped off to the Americas, stripped of their humanity. A beautiful beach. I imagine being myself, there, in my underwear on that beach, whipped and beaten, dizzy and starving, wondering where the hell I'm being taken, scared and surrounded by strangers, watching the beautiful sunset on that picturesque beach. Days filled with the possibility of life and death.

So Mathieu and I were supposed to be gone except that early in the morning, Mathieu got a call from his mom saying that she'd had a dream that there was an accident and that we shouldn't go. I laughed when Mathieu told me -- if I didn't do something every time my parents got worried, I wouldn't do much.

I have, however, been reminded by various people that Mathieu's mom KNOWS - so I should just go with it. There will be other weekends.

Mathieu's mom is full of protective jewellry and I now have both a protective bracelet and a protective pinky ring that is currently black but is supposed to turn to a gold colour as I wear it. Hey man, can't hurt.

I can't help but wish someone had told Brenda to stay home that day. And I can't help but wonder where I would be right now if she had. Oh life. Cruel and beautiful.

Mathieu and I talked more about my life before I left for Africa, my life when Brenda was around. How much we partied and went out dancing (or stayed in dancing). The never-ending weekends interrupted only by the fact that we had to make some money to pay the bills. He started lecturing me on things I pondered 10 years ago, on moderation and fun, on being careful about where I go alone, on going out dancing, how people can put things in your drink, about destiny and the inevitability of death. I just sort-of listened and I thought of Brenda when I noticed that inside one of the wine bottles was a cockroach, still alive, fumbling around slowly. There were also a few white worms in there trying to crawl their way up to the top.

Ewwww! Coooool... oh Africa.

I asked Mathieu to stop talking and I blew out the candles. He asked, "why are you so sad she's gone? Was she that good a friend of yours? Did you know her long?"

If he had seen her smile, heard her laugh, danced by her side, would he understand? Would I be as sad if she'd suddenly been diagnosed with cancer rather than murdered? The sadness and the hurt stem from the violence, the fear, the uncertainty and the unfairness of it all. The idea that something like *that* could happen to someone as kind and as happy-go-lucky as *her*... just makes my brain go numb.

So I guess now I'll get dressed and walk over to the Cyber to post this online. Mathieu is gonna come over again later to pray with me so that I'm not alone for Brenda's candle-light vigil. I think of everyone back home and wish I could carry some of their sadness with me, away and into the ocean. I send tons of love to the Goofs, my beautiful girls and boy-peeps... I send huge huge hugs to Brenda's sisters and parents.

My good friend Dan sent me an awesome quote that made him think of Brenda and the joy she spread everywhere she went:

Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. - Buddha

Maybe before we're born we all pull candles like straws, and B's was shorter than ours... but man o' man did it ever burn bright.

Burn bright my friends. Tomorrow is today. I love you and miss you all. xox