It was you and me together in that stupid car, riding around, smoking cigarettes. I think that was everything. I’m sorry. I should have known that you were one person who always stays. And you were my best friend.
I had to do a little drawing for The Killing, I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF.
The Killing was such a wonderful show and the ending was so, so perfect. I adored it, so much so I just had to doodle something for it. I ugly cried my way through the entire thing, it was beautiful. SO MANY FEELINGS.
“I never had a real house to grow up in. You know, home. I never belonged anywhere. And all my life, I was looking for that thing, you know. Thinking that it was out there somewhere. That all I had to do was find it. But I think, maybe, that home was us. It was you and me, together in that stupid car, riding around, smoking cigarettes. I think that was everything. I’m sorry. I should have known that you were one person who always stays. And you were my best friend.”
Linden & Holder <3
This woman spoke about how she had been visiting her sister in Juba when the fighting broke out, and had been unable to return home. To make matters worse, she had left her older children behind in her village, because she thought it would just be a short trip. She had not seen them in nearly a year. As I was interviewing her, she kept a very resigned, unsmiling, faraway look on her face, which can be seen in the previous post. But when we finished, my translator asked her what village she was from. When she told him, he pulled out his phone. “I’ve just been to your hometown on an aid mission,” he said, “I can show you photos.” As he scrolled through photos of her village, her expression suddenly changed.
(Tongping Internally Displaced Persons Site, Juba, South Sudan)
"A few years ago, I got a call on my cell phone from a twelve year old child from my village. He was calling me from a bus stop. He’d taken a bus into the city alone, and he was calling me to ask if I could help him find a way to go to school. Both of his parents had died of AIDS, and he had no money for tuition. I told him to stay where he was, and left work immediately to pick him up. At first I was very mad at him. He should not have travelled alone. But then I looked at him and I saw myself. I’d also been desperate to go to school after my father was killed, but we had no money. So even though I was suffering myself, I told him I would try to help him. My salary was not enough, so I tried many things to get the money. After work, I went to the landfill to hunt for recyclables. But after I paid to have them cleaned, there was no money left. Now I’m trying to make bricks. I have a small operation in the village to make bricks, and I sell them in the city. It doesn’t make much money, but it’s enough to pay tuition for the boy and three of his siblings.”
Monica Vitti, "L’Eclisse" (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962).
"I came from the Dominican Republic when I was 15. The first day of school, I couldn’t speak English and I didn’t know anybody. I wanted to cry all day. I didn’t even want to go to lunch. Six months later, he moved to the US, and came to school feeling the same way. So I showed him how everything works. We’ve been best friends ever since."
Subway 140/140cm Oil on canvas
My family is from Nigeria, and my full name is Uzoamaka, which means “The road is good.” Quick lesson: My tribe is Igbo, and you name your kid something that tells your history and hopefully predicts your future. So anyway, in grade school, because my last name started with an A, I was the first in roll call, and nobody ever knew how to pronounce it. So I went home and asked my mother if I could be called Zoe. I remember she was cooking, and in her Nigerian accent she said, “Why?” I said, “Nobody can pronounce it.” Without missing a beat, she said, “If they can learn to say Tchaikovsky and Michelangelo and Dostoyevsky, they can learn to say Uzoamaka.”
Bella Naija, 2014 (x)