Extended Weekend in Review

I am doing a bit of multitasking today, writing to you from class in between taking notes. The conversation is on censorship and is slowly getting heated. I am a little nervous because we are about to watch the Rodney King film. The subject of the conversation is about how viewers can disagree in viewing something and further, about what one may define as racist may not be defined as racist by others. Tomorrow is the pornography/censorship conversation and we are building towards that. It wouldn’t be a class on sex without this conversation. I have so much more to say on this censorship/freedom of speech business but my happenstance in Amsterdam is the subject of this blog so allow me to now defer to that subject.

On Thursday the new Batman movie, The Dark Knight, debuted in the Netherlands. A group of my classmates and I agreed to do dinner and a movie. Going to the movies was an interesting experience. Theaters in Amsterdam have furnishings similar to that of U.S. cinemas: overpriced food, reminders about turning off your cell phones before the movie and commercials along with approximately 10 minutes of previews.

There are some differences though. Beer is standard fare and it’s relatively cheap: 3 euros. The commercials are entirely in Dutch. The film is in English with Dutch subtitles. This meant that Americans were out of luck when Batman’s crusade extended to global parameters and some of the dialogue was in Chinese. It was also awkward to hear sporadic snickering during a few American jokes.

But there are some moments of comedy that are more universal than others.

Specifically, Morgan Freeman’s character had the entire audience in stitches when he responded to one of Bruce Wayne’s employees who pilfered through financial records, stumbled upon evidence of Batman’s identity and demanded millions of dollars in hush money. Freeman said something along the lines of, “Let me get this straight, you think that your boss is a vigilante that runs the streets at night beating criminals with his bare hands and you want to black mail him?” He continued, “Good Luck!”

As I watched the movie, I gleefully remembered “Pows!” and “Zaps!” in the place of violent scenes from the Batman series decades ago. I thought of Michael Keaton, Danny Devito, Jack Nicholson, Val Kilmer and others. As I conferred with American students, I realized that the mosaic of memories that overcame me and my connection to them were a part of my identity as a child raised in America. It was an interesting, curious kind of solidarity considering America is a place where differences of identity seem to occupy more media space than similarities. All in all, as a political junkie I loved the film and specifically enjoyed the late Heath Ledger and the diverse representations of Black men. However, Batman has much work to do on the woman front.

Friday was one of the first hot days I have had in Amsterdam in recent memory. I reveled in my alone time and spent the morning taking a 40-minute trek to the Cobra Museum to view an exhibit on sexuality and gender that was underwhelming. I then spent my afternoon in Biljmer AKA Black Amsterdam going shopping for a traditional Ghanaian dinner of fufu and soup. I have never felt so grateful to be bilingual. Twi-speaking Ghanaians were everywhere in Biljmer pointing me in the direction of freshly-slaughtered chicken—sorry PETA folks—fufu flour and fresh vegetables. I saw the beauty of New York Harlemites and the sense of black community present on U Street in Washington, DC simply by taking a train a few stops away from my Amsterdam dormitory.

It was a stark contrast from my trip to the Albert Heijn later that evening where I bought seasonings, tomato sauce and bottled water. Albert Heijn is THE supermarket chain in Amsterdam and it comes equipped with many quirks. First, Albert Heijn does not take American credit cards which contrasts from many of the businesses in Europe. Next, when you arrive to the supermarket you have to rent your shopping cart for 50 euro cents, which you get back at the end. However, it’s a terrible inconvenience if you are out of change upon arrival. Lastly, you have to bag your own groceries. And if you want a bag that is not going to break on you half way home you have to pay 20 euro cents per bag for your items. So picture, for just a second, my American behind trying to navigate through this gauntlet of inconveniences. All I can say is that I am lucky to have made it home alive.

Saturday, I spent a significant amount of time looking for souvenirs for family and friends in the states. Amsterdam is full of markets of inexpensive goodies that resemble the setup of flea markets in America. As Amsterdam is comprised of people from all over the world, these markets are a site of inter-cultural sharing which presents an interesting challenge when trying to find a gift that is Amsterdamesque in nature. Gladly I was able to find a few trinkets I cannot share here because I want them to actually be a surprise.

I also hit up some department stores and observed an altercation with a consumer and sales representative where the store would not give a discount for a dirty/defective piece of clothing. I found out that this was more of a European policy than a store policy which was not surprising considering that customer service is literally a foreign concept. When I walked into stores there wasn’t the quintessential vulture-like sales representative swooping down trying to convince you that your wants are your needs. There is a hands-off approach to consumerism that is as refreshing as it is lonely. It is nice to have peace of mind when you are on a mission for a specific find. However, those clingy sales reps are a reservoir of information that often cut your search-time in half when they are ubiquitous in their presence. I have a few more gifts to go, so I hope to not disappoint.

That evening I attended a popular dance club in Amsterdam called Escape. My entourage was comprised of 5 cute Pakistani men, most of them were vacationing from Germany. It was nice to get dressed up and enjoy 90s hip hop and House music, two genres which reign at dance clubs in Amsterdam. However, this club was not refuge from the contemporary hip hop scene. At one point in the evening they actually passed out lollipops as a prelude to Lil’ Wayne’s international hit “Lollipop.” And the DJ’s here are not as friendly as American DJ’s in so far as making requests are viewed more as impositions than suggestions. The night took the turn for the worse when I slipped during a two-step and the slit in my dress extended to my panty line! When I went to use the bathroom to see how bad it was, I was refused entrance because I didn’t have 50 euro cents to appease the bathroom guard. I reached behind me, clenched the bottom of my dress in a fist and made a bee line to the door. Thank the Goddess for sewing Grandmothers and dance moves that don’t tear dresses beyond repair.

On Sunday I attended the Kwaku festival, a yearly festival that runs for several weeks which involves the Surinamese, Ghanaians, Nigerians, Indonesians and other communities of color in Amsterdam. At the festival, I caught the tail end of a conference on Black women being held there. I witnessed a beautiful spoken word piece discussing the struggles of Black women living in Denmark. The speaker talked about challenges in getting one’s hair done, finding that aisle in drug stores of ethnic hair products, or in grocery stores of ethnic foods. The piece was also preoccupied with a growing notion that women of color, specifically black women traveling or moving freely is often associated with transactional sex. It immediately brought me to the testimonies of many of my classmates who are women of color who were aggressively questioned about their sexual intentions in the Netherlands when applying for visas from their home countries—a serendipitous unintended consequence of many policies that have been implemented in combating sex trafficking. The woman’s poem struck a powerful chord with me and added more fodder to this debate that I have been having with myself about whether identity engenders common experiences. The jury is still out.

After the conference I headed to mingle with locals and stumbled upon a huge banner with a Ghanaian flag with the words “Home Sweet Home” emblazoned on it. There we found a buffet of Ghanaian food: fried plantain, boiled cornmeal, rice with beans and goat meat stew, kabobs and many, many others. When I told the cook I wanted hot sauce, she knew exactly what I meant. She grounded tomatoes, onions and whole Jamaican peppers to make a delicious concoction of spices for me to accompany my rice and plantains all for 8 euros.

In the end, I had a blast in my last full weekend in Amsterdam!