For blog post #5 Narrative Project: A Wizard-of-Oz Journey, I am going to interpret the Wizard of Oz: If I Only Had the Brain, Heart, Nerve, Wizard of Oz: Meeting the Wizard , and Wizard of Oz: You've Always Had the Power videos by answering the following questions below as it relates to my Narrative Project of emotional life event.
How does your narrative allow you to travel into your brain (mind) then and now? My narrative have allowed my brain to travel an unmeasurable distances that I thought I had forgotten about and places I’ve been. Now, it’s like a reflection of my past life. How does your narrative allow you to explore your heart (emotions) about the event then and now? I think I was hostile, angry and most of all ready to avenge my treatments I underwent in my youth. This could be everyone I had ever had contact with as at relate to my narrative, especially my step mother, brother and my dad. But for now and as I get older, I no longer bear those thoughts in my mind anymore. I think, it has made me what I am today. Stronger mentally, physically and spiritually. How does your narrative meet the nerve (high-stakes) element of meaningful storytelling? My narrative meets the nerve (high-stakes) element of meaningful storytelling, because it has the following with in it: Dialogue, action, theme, conflict, imagery, voice, character or DAT for short. How does your narrative enable you to re-examine the power (agency) you have in authoring your life-story? It show how powerful it’s to be able to construct your life story through narrative or memoir so that people can feel and experience your past. I helps you to rethink of your life and make positive decisions so that other can learn from your story and also there’s power in writing plus the way we write it to making meaning. What shapes our sense of identity: Life events or the stories we tell ourselves about life events? I my understanding, life events are what shapes our sense of identity. We happened to learned from our mistakes and not what stories we tell ourselves. Our identity is highly align with our identity. “Experience is the best teacher.” Julius Caesar.
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This blog post Narrative Project, I’ll be composing an emotional scene with dialogue and symbolism. Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway), How to Format Dialogue and Symbolism are the texts that were assigned for reading. This post will appeal to the five senses. Description, action and theme are key in my narrative project post.
It was 20th of May 1991, dark and a rainy day. We were in the raining season. My uncle Felex and I had just got back from up country. Our cloths soaked on us and had really covered more than 25 miles by foot. We were suffering for starvation. My grand dad was sitting in his favorite chair made from rattan, it had a wide back which made it good for relaxing. The house was filled with people most of whom came from different parts of the city, internally displaced and they had no where to go. The air was very dark like smoke from an exhaust, one could hear heavy machine guns from afar and sporadic AK47 near. It felt like we were on the war front. My grand Dad said to my uncle, “your girlfriend’s Kadi and family are leaving for Ghana, do you want to go along?” “They came to inform your mother and I that they were leaving for Ghana via the ship.” “you just missed them, and do you want to go with them to Ghana?” My uncle, “Ooh yes, I’ll love to follow them to Ghana.” “Can I take my things along?” “yes, you can take your things with you.” “You have to take your nephew Francis along with you.” “I don’t want you to leave him behind” “Take him with you and make sure you protect him like you own eye.” I was standing there listening to what they were talking about. My grand dad told me, “you will be going with your uncle to Ghana.” “I want you to be in his sight at all time.” “Do you understand me?” Yes grandpa, I replied. My grandma gives us homemade cornbread to eat, we drank more water to fill our bellies. Because the bread was so little. She gives each one a hug, with tears in her eyes and said to us. “Let GOD be with you all” “Ooh, I have something to give you Felex, let me go grab it.” She went inside of her bed room, she stayed ever so long. We thought something had happen to her. She finally came out with a white Bible, it was a King James Version. “keep this Bible with you at all time Felex.” We were ready now to leave. Both my grandpa and grandma spoke in one voice. “Your good and let God’s blessing be upon your.” We headed out of the house for the Free Port to meet Kadi and her family. ,
My Narrative Project is about a time in my life that I can never ever forget about, the impact was so huge that it nearly cost my life but all thanks to God that made all things possible for me to stay be alive even though I still bear the wounds. What is Creative Nonfiction? (Lee Gutkind), Making Scenes in Memoir (Lee Martin) and My Name is Margaret (Maya Angelou) are the assigned readings that will guide me through Composing a Present Scene with Dialogue and Symbolism, Composing a Past Scene and to complete my project in English 1 Compositions Class. I’m a beginner to the Narrative Writing Process, but I am relying heavily on the Dr. Mengini and the given materials to build my capacity. I’m expected to make mastics along the way but I’m confident that I’m going put the pieces together after one or two drafts. I’ll be very grateful to my class mates that will critic my work and give me feedbacks be it positives or negatives. Let me say thanks in advance to you all. It was 4pm that evening 1986 in Monrovia the capital city of Liberia, the weather was very humid at least 119 C or more. The street was filled with petite traders, pedestrians moving back and forth with profuse perspirations running down their forehead, some was soaked to the point that their cloths stuck on them like glue, like they had been beach swimming. It could be compared to rush hours in some major cities of the world, like New York City. We were in my grandfather 1978 Volkswagen bus, it was painted green. The bus had holes in it that one could see and feel the dusts and gravels rushing into the bus like sifter diamonds from the pebbles. The bus sounded like an airplane, it’s muffle was hanging almost to touch the ground while moving. Wipers on the bus was broken and both lift, and right view mirror broken as well, the driver had to literally turn his head around in order to observed traffic or changed lanes, uses his hands to clean the windshield. The music playing in the bus was Postcard to New York by Movieland, the speakers in it was like an upscale club. In the bus was Sister Marie, who is my step mother, my step mother, Alfred my dad, Marie’s mother Miss Blamo, plus myself. We were heading to the Robert’s International Airport outside Monrovia, I was so excited to have such an experience, my dad was leaving for the United State’s and I had hope that my life was going to improved. 7pm was my dad checking time, 7:30 the cue started to form around the departure gate, and 7:45pm the announcement came over the speakers “last call for gate 2 for passengers of Pan”. My dad held us all together, it felt like we were at a burial that moment. Dad quickly joined the line for departure, we stood there watching while they boarded. We started to head back to central city, but this time; it was without my dad. I was going lived with my step mother Marie and her Mother Miss Blamo. Marie had no child, according to family members she lost about 5 children during birth or miscarriages. However, she was pregnant with her 6th child this time around;rumors had it that she had been to more than a dozen native doctors, so that this pregnancy could stay. I was only three years old at the time, and so naive. Few months after my dad left, Marie had her first child and named Dump Site. The name that one of the native doctors give her. She was told that if she refuses to call him Dump Site, he was going to die. Marie my step mother was very happy that she now had a child, she saw me as an outsider now. I was now made a domestic slave, I was doing all the house work at age 6. I fetch water from well between 1 to 2 miles distances from the house to the well on my head using five US gallon. I went to the market to buy the house groceries. I washed the house floor every Saturday morning. I did the laundries using my hands, my hands were so little to hold the cloth, but I had no choice. I was whip messily for no reason using any thing that was in her reach, ranging from her hands, feet, electric wire, tree branches, belts, shoes heels. Marie threw breakable things at me they included bowls, mugs, plates and bottles. She hardly fed me, I ate off our neighbors left over and when I am caught, I’ll get flogged and punished the next day with out food and still must do the work. Many days I will ask God to please take me out of this Hell Hole or sometime asked “ooh God why me and when will I get out of this bondage?” I really don’t know how to call this day, maybe bad day or good day? I really think it should be both, but I will take the good over the bad. I was this day that I had been punished and whipped, I was very hungry and exhausted. Marie my step mother told me to carry my little brother on my shoulders so that he could sleep. Because I was so frail, my brother and I fell to the ground with his head hitting the concrete floor, in her very present. My little brother started to cry loud, I was shivering and knew that I was going to die at that moment. My step mother raced for her son on the floor, she picked him and told me that she was coming for me! I didn’t know what to do, I started crying out loud before she could even start to torture me. Marie went in her room and came out with a red, white and blue baseball bat, she swung it right at the back of my head, I fell to the floor leaving unconscious with blood oozing from my head and the neighbors came running. I woke up lying in a community clinic with my granddad and grandma at the foot of my bed, they told me that one of the neighbors had informed them about the incident and that they were there to take me from my step mother Marie. I was happy to hear that, and I asked if I could leave right that moment, they said no because I still had bandage all around my head. I remained in the clinic for two days and was discharged to my grandparents. God had answered my prayers!! |
FrancisI will use this blog to create and inform my readers of what I have learned in my English Composition course. Archives
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