The African Heart - Part One

This past week, I was sweetly told that I did not understand the problem because I was utilizing my Western Heart. To understand, I needed an African Heart.

A heart is a heart is a heart. Right?

Of course, I also thought that boys and girls were the same, until I had to raise both.

What we were speaking about and what I was failing to understand were the ways of war in sub-tropic Africa.

Whether I am tuning into the BBC, AlJezerra – English, MSNBC, every day there are reports of more fighting and dying, not limited of course to Africa. However, Africa is where I am living.

So, since I do not understand this “African Heart”, I will be researching this over the next few months. I know only that this is Part One. How many Parts? Don't know.

Where do I start and how do I research this?

Well Webster's has quite a bit to say about the definition of “heart”. Maybe they will have definitions that distinquish Western, from Africian, from Oriental, from Middle-Eastern, etc.

If so, Part One will be the beginning and the end of this series.

Webster's First Definiton

The hollow muscular organ located behind the sternum and between the lungs; its rhythmic contractions pump blood through the body.

Unless I am mistaken, this means that all “normal” hearts are the same. Located in the same place within the body and performing the same task.

End of story.

But it does remind me of another story.

I had attended Queens College in Charlotte, NC, my freshman year. Queens was an all girls school with 700 girls enrolled, 10 from above the Mason-Dixon Line. A drastic change from Westchester County in New York. The Village, Woodstock, NYC, a drinking age of 18. Girls had broken dress codes and were in jeans. Skirts started to move north.

John, Martin and Bobby were all gone.

Why Charlotte? My parents were moving to Florida and I/they could not afford the out-of-state tuition cost at the state colleges. So, in April, we were looking for schools in the South.

Charlotte was a dry county, meaning you had to leave the county to drink. Jeans? I had to purchase a whole new wardrobe, skirts and dresses to the knees or below.

In addition, I lost most of my NY accent pretty quickly.

My roommate, Becky, took me home one weekend to Statesboro, GA. , home then to Georgia Southern College, now University. Pretty campus, but further south.

After taking a year-off, I re-entered college as a sophmore at Georgia Southern. That would have been the fall of 1971, and the year that Bulloch County Georgia was ordered to desegregate its public school system.

At Southern, I encountered Campus Crusaders (for Christ), being “born again”, Black Baptist churches with music that made it a sin to sit, and another dry county. And, Duanne Allman, Allman Brother's fame, died. Their hit “Statesboro Blues” was playing everywhere.

My roommate made me wear a black arm patch in sympathy.

I was still majoring in Special Education. I had not yet discovered that every child was not meant to be the same, each was “perfect” as they were.

However, I took my first teacher's aid course and went into an elementary school classroom for a couple of weeks, or if more, I cannot remember.

To say that a Yankee (capitalized) was not welcome in that classroom during their court mandated desegration, would be an understatement. However, Southern hospitality is gracious and civilized.

The one event that stands out in my mind is this:

A little girl, African-American, has a stomach ache. She comes to me. I go to the teacher.

The teacher tells me that she is aware that she has a stomach ache, but she is not sure of what to do, since she is sure “their” insides are not the same as “ours.”

I have never forgotten the sincerity with which that statement was made.

Thankfully, I know that any differences between African and Western Hearts have nothing to do with their physical placement.