Selene and Brynjolf spent the morning in Raven Rock, getting to know the vendors and some of the other townspeople, most of them Dunmer. Although getting to Miraak’s temple was urgent, they weren’t ready to rush right in, either. They wanted to ask some more questions and basically get a feel for the island before venturing off into uncharted territory. As expected, everyone they spoke to had the same reaction as Glover and Adril when asked about Miraak, although some did mention the temple at the center of the island.

While they were wandering through the town square, they stopped at the stand of an elf working at a tanning rack and said hello.

“Did you come to buy anything or just laugh at our misfortunes?” he snapped.

“Sales are that bad?” Brynjolf guessed.

“Hmph! Bad? What if I told you you’re the first people that have even considered looking at my wares today? I’ve half a mind to contact my friends at the East Empire Company and see if they need an extra hand in Windhelm.”

“You have friends at the EEC?” Selene asked.

“Oh, absolutely!” he bragged. “In fact, I’ve corresponded with Vittoria Vici herself more than once. You know, the lady who runs the warehouse in Solitude. It’s the biggest warehouse they have in Skyrim.”

“Aye,” said Brynjolf, “she’s our next-door neighbor.”

“Oh,” the merchant muttered, the wind taken out of his sails.

“I’m Selene, and this is my husband Brynjolf.”

“Fethis Alor, at your service.”

“What do you sell?”

“The question should be what don’t I sell? If it’s not a weapon, potion or armor, then it’s likely that I have it. Gjalund over at the docks brings me all sorts of things from Skyrim, and Glover gets me a few curiosities once in a while. He usually has the most amazing deals I can’t pass up. I have an eye for trinkets.”

“Well, if we find anything unusual while we’re here, we’ll bring it to you.”

“Fine, just fine! One thing I’m always looking for is East Empire pendants. They’re amulets made by the East Empire Company for their workers; gave them as incentives. They’re no longer being made, so they’ve become collectors’ items. You might find one or two of them around the island.”

“We’ll keep an eye out.”

When they left Fethis’s kiosk, they discovered the Raven Rock Mine, and Brynjolf mentioned that they might be able to locate Crescius Carellius inside. They went inside and found a man and a woman in the main office. She was Dunmer, petite and attractive, and he was an elderly Imperial. They stood face to face with their hands on their hips and angry expressions on their faces.

“Damn it, woman! I said leave me be!”

“Crescius, you’re too old to be traipsing around down in the mine! I’m not spending the rest of my days as a widow.”

“Of course you are! Do you think I’m going to live as long as you?”

“I am not having that conversation again.”

Crescius noticed Selene and Brynjolf and looked up. “Who in blazes are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Glover Mallory sent us,” Brynjolf told him. “He wants his Ancient Nordic Pickaxe back.”

“Bah! The damn fool doesn’t even deserve to have it! I’ll bet he stole it from the Skaal in the first place!”

“That’s his concern, not yours.”

He groaned. “Oh, very well.” He reached behind his desk and retrieved the pickaxe. “Here. Tell him I hope he drops it on his foot.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing you talking about exploring the mine,” said Selene. “Is there something we could help with?”

“I don’t know. Been difficult trusting people lately. They all think I’m crazy. But mark my words: if I’m right—and I know I’m right—I have a secret that will put the Raven Rock Mine back on the map.”

“Back on the map?” the Dunmer woman countered. “It hasn’t been on the map in two hundred years!”

“Just ignore her. She thinks I’m crazy, too.”

“What kind of secret?” Brynjolf asked.

“One that the East Empire Company swept under the rug. My great grandfather died trying to uncover it. The company called it a ‘terrible accident,’ claiming it was a rockfall, but I know better. That mine is solid; there was no rockfall. See, my wife—Aphia, there—she and I were cleaning when we came across some of my great grandfather’s things locked in an old chest. I found an unsent letter he had written to the company describing a discovery that was made in the mine. They wanted Gratian—that’s my great grandfather—to have a closer look. Then he was killed, and they locked that section of the mine, I think to cover up what Gratian really found. But I have the key. Well, I assume it’s the key to the locked section. I haven’t managed to get all the way down there.”

“Why are you even entertaining this notion?” Aphia demanded.

“I’m guessing you don’t agree with his story,” noted Selene.

“Poor Crescius is aging, and I believe it’s addled his mind.”

“I’m standing right here, woman!”

Aphia ignored him. “I’m sure his great grandfather is down there somewhere, but there was no conspiracy. It was a simple cave-in, like they said. My greatest fear is that my stubborn mule of a husband will end up suffering the same fate.”

Selene shrugged. “I have to admit it sounds suspicious to me.”

“Finally!” Crescius exclaimed. “Someone who believes me! Look, my harpy of a wife nags that I’m too old to go down there chasing my theory, but perhaps she’s correct. I’m afraid time is my enemy. It’s caught up with me before I could find the answers I’m looking for.”

Selene looked at Brynjolf, who shrugged and said, “We can take a look. Any idea where to start?”

“Gratian kept a journal of notes about his discoveries. If you can find his remains, I’m hoping it will help.” He went to his desk and pulled a letter and a key out of the drawer, then handed them to Selene. “Be careful down in the mine. The way can be treacherous.”

They started to head back out to town to get supplies from their room and give Glover his pickaxe back before venturing down into the depths of the mine, and Aphia followed them to the door.

“Thank you,” she told Selene softly. “I know I won’t have him much longer, and I don’t want to risk losing him before his time.”

“How did you two meet?”

“I was a priestess at the temple. He was going through a deep depression, and Councilor Morvayn sent me to care for him. Eventually we fell in love and married.”

“You’re a priestess?”

“Yes. I had a falling out with the other priests at the temple, but I still practice Restoration magic. If you need healing, come to me, and I’ll be happy to help you.”

“That’s good to know,” Brynjolf said. “Selene is pregnant.”

Aphia’s eyes lit up. “Wonderful! Best wishes.” She placed a hand on Selene’s belly. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

Selene thanked her, and she and Brynjolf left the mine and headed across the square to the forge. Glover chuckled when he saw Selene and Brynjolf approach with the pickaxe.

“Crescius is quite a character, eh?”

“He said he hopes you drop it on your foot,” Selene quipped.

Glover laughed heartily. “He’s a crazy old man, but I love the guy. Hey, since you went through all the trouble of getting the axe back, why don’t you keep it?”

“What? After all that?”

“I just wanted to remind the old codger that you can’t just go around taking things from other people.” With that, Selene and Brynjolf chortled. “I know, I know, it’s ironic coming from me,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Look, that pickaxe hasn’t done me any good in years. By all the questions you’ve been asking, I’m assuming you’re about to explore the island. Maybe you’ll come across some stalhrim. If you do, bring it to me and I’ll give you a good price for it.”

“Sure thing, Glover,” Brynjolf said, still trying to control his laughter.

* * *

After stocking up on arrows, potions, and first aid supplies, Selene and Brynjolf descended into the Raven Rock Mine. It was dark and musty, and the air grew hotter the farther down they went. They fought a few frostbite spiders along the way, climbing over the carcasses that completely blocked the path. They found several rich veins of ebony along the way and noted the locations so they could tell Crescius.

Perhaps two miles down into the shaft, they found a locked gate. The key did work on the lock, and they went through, but they found no evidence of a cave-in. They did, however, find a Nordic ruin. They killed several draugr as they navigated the narrow, ivy-covered maze of sarcophagi. In a round room that appeared to be some sort of council chamber, they found a nice chest loaded with gold and gems. There was some enchanted armor as well, but it was too heavy to carry through the ruin.

In a small, dark chamber, they found a patch of shimmering ice covering one sarcophagus. The room was uncomfortably hot, but the ice didn’t melt.

“Stalhrim?” Selene guessed.

Brynjolf used Glover’s pickaxe to break off a chunk to take back to him.

They got caught in the crossfire of a couple of soul gems in one narrow passage. Selene attempted to shoot the gems off of their stands, but she didn’t have time to aim before one of them shot a bolt of lightning at her, and she cursed.

“I’ve got this,” Brynjolf told her. “I don’t want to risk hurting the baby.”

“You’ll let me fight draugr, but you won’t let me dodge soul gems.”

“I know it’s a contradiction but blocking a sword is easier than blocking lightning. Just let me handle it,” he grumbled impatiently. Ducking and dodging the lightning and grunting painfully when it hit him, he ran quickly up to one of the soul gems and knocked it off.

There were a lot of false starts and dead ends, but they were usually lucrative, often ending with a chest or urns containing gold. As was their habit, they kept the gold and the lighter items and left the heavier things behind. The long, winding tunnel finally terminated in a sheer drop to a cavern below. Several levels of pillars and tiers led down to a platform, which was flanked on both sides by a rushing stream and stood before a huge, round door, its intricate carvings glowing with red light. Two horizontal fissures leading away from the door also glowed red, as did the junction where the two halves of the door met. Selene figured the lights were part of some sort of puzzle seal.

“Well,” Brynjolf sighed with resignation, “looks like it’s either jump or go back.”

“Jump,” she declared. “We haven’t found what we’re looking for yet. Besides, the drop isn’t that far.”

She leapt down to the next level, then followed the drops and tiers to the floor below. Two draugr and two human skeletons lay on the platform and the steps leading down to the stream. One of the humans had evidently been killed fighting the draugr; the other seemed to have died lying on his bedroll. A greatsword lay next to him, a red aura shining around the brilliant blade, and a journal was curled in his hand. Selene pulled the diary away carefully and paged through it.

“This is Gratian Caerellius,” Selene announced. “We’re in a barrow belonging to the Bloodskal Clan, and that is the Bloodskal Blade. It seems the draugr were released when Gratian took the blade from its stand. It says his assistant was killed in the battle; I’m assuming that’s him at the bottom of the stairs.”

Brynjolf picked the sword up and swung it a few times. When he swung, it emitted a humming, red ribbon of energy. “Lovely!” Brynjolf remarked appreciatively.

“Gratian said he thought the direction of that ribbon of light might have something to do with opening the door, but he had been badly injured in the fight with the draugr and was too weak. He died before he was able to get the door open.” She put the journal down and held her hand out. “Can I try?”

“Of course.”

Brynjolf handed her the weapon and she swung the blade, testing its weight. She walked over to one of the horizontal cracks and placed her hand on it. The light pulsed around her hand, and the sword vibrated. Stepping back, she swung it and watched the band of light whip out from the blade. The ribbon merged with the beam emitting from the crack, and the wall shuddered. She swung again, harder this time. The doorframe hummed and vibrated, and the side she stood on began to move. The designs shifted and move up the wall, and the red light went with it. It stopped when the red beam was about halfway up the door, now vertical.

She looked back at Brynjolf with a grin. “I think we figured it out.”

“Aye, try doing it vertically this time and see what happens.”

It worked. A few swings of the Bloodskal Blade on either side of the door, and the designs on the door itself glowed brighter red. But the door didn’t open. The light from the bands, however, settled into the crack at the center.

“One more time.” She arced the blade in another vertical swipe, and the two halves of the door trembled, creaked, and parted. Selene grimaced when she saw what awaited them on the other side.

“You have to be kidding me,” Brynjolf groaned as he looked at the tableau before him. It was a long corridor like a hall of stories, and perhaps twenty pendulum blades swung back and forth, blocking the path.

“This place just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t as bad as it looked. The blades were gathered in groups of four or five with lengthy gaps between the groups. They swung slowly and very close together, leaving a good second or two between each pass. They were easy to get past, and in only a few minutes they had moved on to the next room. It was long and narrow, sunken in the middle like an amphitheater, with a raised platform in the middle containing a chest. “Sunken” was the operative word; the chamber was under about four feet of water. A Word Wall stood at the other end of the room.

“Now, there’s a happy sight,” she said, stepping into the water, which was as warm as a hot spring.

When they got about halfway into the room, there was a screech, and a dragon priest came flying up out of the water. Selene reached for an arrow, nocked it, and shot before the creature could even get moving, and she managed to get another one out and fire before it reached them. The second arrow was enough to send it plummeting back into the water; and there was nothing left but a pile of soggy ash, some gold, and one of the creepy masks the dragon priests always dropped. She reached into the water and picked up the mask, handing it to Brynjolf with a cringe.

“They’re not that bad,” he teased her.

“They give me the chills,” she complained.

“Go to your Word Wall. I’ll get the gold and the chest.”

She squeezed the water from hair as she walked up to the wall, where she absorbed the new Word of Power. Mul meant strength. She tapped into a soul inside her to get an understanding of the word, and an image drifted through her mind of herself, covered with an orange and blue nimbus in the shape of a dragon. Dragon Aspect, she thought to herself. This one would be fun to try out.

“Mul!” she Shouted, and strength and power surged through her.

Brynjolf, who had just walked up, hair and armor dripping, gaped at her. “Was that what the Shout did? That’s fantastic!”

Selene looked down at her hand, and it was indeed surrounded by light in the shape of scales and bone. It didn’t last long, though, and after only a minute or so the light and her strength began to fade. “I’ll be looking for the other Words of Power for this one,” she noted. “What was in the chest?”

“Two bloody gold pieces. But the dragon priest had quite a bit of coin on him. Worth diving for, anyway.”

A distant memory came to mind, and she laughed softly.

“What?”

“Farkas said once that he wondered why draugr hoarded gold. It’s not like they could spend it.”

Brynjolf chuckled as they began to look for an exit. They found the way out on the other side of the platform in the center and stepped into a room with a thick, black book sitting on a pedestal. Another chest rested against the wall, and Brynjolf checked it out while Selene looked at the book. An image of a many-tentacled creature was stamped into the cover, but there was no title. She opened the book and read the words, “The Winds of Change.”

The world blurred around her, and she was suddenly somewhere else. “Oh!” she cried with a start. She looked around to ascertain that she was alone, not much of a comfort but at least there were no enemies accosting her before she got her bearings. Poor Brynjolf; he’d be scared to death. Truth be known, so was she.

The place seemed to be made of books. The floor was covered with pages, and the walls and archways along the path ahead were actually stacks of thousands of volumes. To each side of the path was an ocean of ink, from which many black tentacles waved lazily under a yellow sky. Further up the path, light fixtures that looked like big plants lined the path; others flew back and forth overhead. She could see little whirlwinds of pages here and there, and off to the side, hovering above the sea, were black masses of smoke and tentacles. A stairway led higher into the construct.

And then came the voice, thick, slow, and heavy.

“As I told you, your free will is an illusion. Why else would you be here?”

Hermeus Mora. Great.

“Where am I?”

“This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded. Sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks of my library.”

“No. I want out of here.”

“You want to learn,” he argued. “Do you think I cannot sense your lust? My library calls to you. Use it. When you tire of your search, read your black book again to return to your mortal life. But know that the lure of Apocrypha will call you back. It is your fate.”

A sudden weight in her knapsack made her realize the book had materialized. She reached back and touched it, as though grabbing onto a lifeline, but she had to admit she was curious. Thus, she started down the path. Sometimes, when she got too close to the ink, tentacles would lash out at her like a whip. She was able to avoid them for the most part, but one of them caught her leg and flayed the leather and skin right off. “Gods damn it!” she squealed as she leapt away from the edge.

Selene heard a shuddering sound and turned to find a creature with several bony arms, a slimy face with long tentacles, a cloak made of fuzzy feathers, and a toothy maw where its abdomen should be. It had no legs, only tentacles, and it floated a few feet above the floor. It was shooting invisible bolts of power at her that hummed like the energy ribbons from the Bloodskal Blade. They hurt like crazy and instantly sapped her strength. She nocked an arrow, aimed and shot, but it continued to hurl the energy bolts at her. One more arrow dropped the creature, and she sat down on the floor, exhausted.

“Seeker,” Mora’s voice whispered. Was that what the creature was? A seeker?

A dull ache spread through her abdomen, and her heart skipped a beat. She placed a hand on her stomach. “No, no, little one. Don’t fret. I’ll take good care of us.”

She got up and looted the creature for a few gold pieces and a book she didn’t already have, then pressed on. She found several books and soul gems as she walked the path, dodging the whipping tentacles which thrust out of small pools along the way. She came to a locked door, but it wasn’t a standard, pickable lock, and she didn’t see any sort of lever. One of the plant-like light fixtures bobbed merrily nearby, almost as though it was trying to get her attention.

“Scrye,” said Mora’s voice.

Selene reached out and touched the fixture, and it retreated into itself as if she had frightened it, but the door opened. She passed through many halls, arches and tunnels, all made of books, sometimes using a scrye to open a door. She found one more seeker, but she managed to shoot it before it saw her. She finally came to a courtyard that was enclosed by a high fence made of complex wirework. The panels resembled stained glass windows, only without the glass. Greenish clouds floated in the pale sky, and an apparatus hovered overhead, spewing out books, which drifted lazily on the breeze. The courtyard was actually quite lovely, but the creature emerging from the inkpool in the center did detract from the beauty of the place. It was perhaps eight feet tall, humanoid but with features like a fish and lots of long, spiky teeth. It spat inky tentacles at her, but she was too far away for them to catch her. She nocked an arrow and shot the creature in the face, that the arrow only seemed to piss it off, and it lurched across the courtyard at her.

“Oh, crap,” she exclaimed, dodging the tentacles it spat. She slipped past him and ran several yards away, readying an arrow as she moved, then turned and shot it again, catching it in the chest just as it spat again. This time, the ink settled before her and turned into even more tentacles, which whipped up from the floor and grabbed at her. One of them connected with her already injured leg, and she squealed with pain as she leapt out of the way. The monster was coming at her again, and she nocked, aimed, and shot before it got close enough. This time is shrieked, but it still kept coming, and she was barely able to get out of the way before it stomped on her with its massive feet.

“Fuck me!” She took a breath and Shouted, “Fus…ro dah!” but the creature barely noticed. It still charged after her, chasing her up a flight of stairs, and soon Selene had nowhere to go. She dropped the bow and drew Dragonbane, snarling as it reached her and swiped with its giant, clawed hands. She thanked the Divines for her speed as she ducked the hand and planted the sword into the creature’s abdomen. It threw its head back and flailed its arms wildly, screaming in agony, and Selene had just enough time to remove her sword before it fell backward, tumbling down the stairs and into the inkpool. She sat down on the stairs for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath before getting up and preparing to move on. The creature was lying half-in and half-out of the inkpool, but she figured looting it wasn’t worth getting lashed by another tentacle, so she left it alone.

Two scryes opened the way to a small room that sat beneath the book machine. A stone sculpture depicting a mass of tentacles dominated the center of the room, and another black book rested on a pedestal to the side. It was also entitled The Winds of Change, and Selene realized the book was no longer in her pack. There seemed to be nowhere else to go, and she was ready to get out of this place anyway, so she opened the book. At first it was blank, but as she watched, text began to bleed onto the paper.

Behold the Book of Insight. Choose.

She read through the choices, and they seemed beneficial and pretty straightforward. Lover’s Insight would give her more allure and an advantage over male merchants and enemies. Scholar’s Insight would give her a better understanding of any books she read. Companion’s Insight, however, was the one for her. This knowledge would allow her to fight alongside Brynjolf without risk of harming him. No attacks, Shouts or spells she used in battle would cause him injury.

Selene rolled her eyes. “Are you serious?” she said aloud. “If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”

More words appeared on the page. Insight is your reward. You have already paid the price.

“Fine, then I choose Companion’s Insight.”

Selene closed the book, and she was instantly back in Bloodskal Barrow. Brynjolf stood before her, watching her with concern. Her leg stung badly, and she gasped at the pain.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, love,” her husband scolded.

“What happened this time?”

“You just stood there and read, but I couldn’t get your attention no matter what I did. Then your leg started bleeding, and you still didn’t move.”

Selene looked at her leg and groaned. A section of her leggings the size of her hand was completely shredded, and there was a gaping hole in her leg. Hoping Glover had some void salts to repair the leather, she reached into her pack for a healing potion and her first aid kit, then sat down and began to stitch her wound, which went nearly all the way to the bone. While she worked, she told Brynjolf about Apocrypha, Hermeus Mora, the seeker, and the gift of Companion’s Insight. Both agreed they wouldn’t go out of their way to try it out.

They ascended a long, spiral staircase and went through a short tunnel to a hidden doorway bearing a conventional lever. Selene pulled the lever, and they emerged into another part of Bloodskal Barrow. It seemed bandits had taken up residence in this section, and Selene and Brynjolf took care of them quickly and silently, as well as the ones they found outside.

It was dark out, and rain drizzled on them all the way back to town, where they went straight to the Retching Netch and crawled into bed—rather, Selene crawled into bed and Brynjolf lay down on his bedroll.

“I don’t know if I want to sleep,” he said. “What if we end up out there, working on that shrine?”

“We can’t go completely without sleep, love. Besides, I’m exhausted. Let’s just hope for the best.”

If they went to the shrine, they didn’t know it, because they woke up where they had gone to sleep. Selene dreamed of the hunt, not of Miraak, and though she couldn’t say she was rested, at least she didn’t have the disturbing feeling she had been enslaved overnight.

They got up and had breakfast, then found Crescius at his house.

“Good, you’re back!” he exclaimed. “What did you find?”

“You were right, Crescius.” She handed him Gratian’s journal.

“Ha! I knew it! See, Aphia, his death wasn’t because of a rockfall It was just a story to keep people away from the tombs.”

“There’s more. We found ebony in the mine and stalhrim in the ruin.”

Aphia smiled. “You know what this means, don’t you? It means we can open the mine. Give people jobs. Give people hope.”

The old man seemed rejuvenated by the news, and he practically jumped up and down, a joyful expression on his face. He hugged Aphia, then looked over at Selene. “I believe I owe you a little more than a debt of gratitude.” He went to a desk and retrieved a hefty coin purse. “This isn’t much, but it’s the best an old, retired miner can do.”

“Thank you, Crescius,” Selene said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“No, my dear. Thank you.”

Be sure to look out for the next look of the day!

IT’S BAAAAACCCKKKK!!!!!

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OVER 2000 PEOPLE
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2136 NW 1st Ave
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Tickets:
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$40 Pre-Sold ($50 at the DOOR)
(954) 515-7371 – KarismatiK

IT’S BAAAAACCCKKKK!!!!!

***JOUVERT***
OVER 2000 PEOPLE
ALL U CAN DRINK
WATER & PAINT
ALL THE BEST DJ’s

***SOHO STUDIOS***
2136 NW 1st Ave
Miami, FL 33127

Tickets:

(954) 515-7371 KarismatiK
GET THEM NOW!!!
$40 Pre-Sold ($50 at the DOOR)

If you don’t have your’s yet, go to the link and message our Facebook inbox for details on how to get your shirt today!

Aphia Diseño Aphia son diseñadoras gráficas que diseñan polerones, cortavientos, mochilas y  chaquetas entre otros, a tu medida y con el diseño que tú quieras.

Hay modelos muy bonitos y lo mejor de todo es que tienes la opción de elegir los colores y la forma y hacer una prenda única, solo para ti y que nadie más tiene.

Si quieres conocer más de la marca y comprar uno ideal para este invierno, encuéntralas en su fanpage  y en su flickr.

     When I was in college Greek life always fascinated me. I never really heard of a Que, Alpha, AKA, SGRho, ZphiB, Sigma, Kappa, Delta, or Iota before I attended college in the South. Maybe it was because where I’m from “The Divine 9″ is not BIG on the West Coast or maybe I just was out of the loop? Whatever the reason Greek Life has definitely set a trend around the south as making it “THE ORGANIZATION” that many people want to join, but few are chosen.

As a freshman I was approached by two different Greek Letter Organization members and was asked to join their beloved sorority. To learn more, I began to research, research, research all sororities… I began to narrow down my choice to the one sorority that I believed would be the “perfect fit,” based on what I feel like I would feel most comfortable being apart of and possible one day representing. As I know Joining a BGLO (Black Greek Letter Organization) is a LIFETIME commitment and should not be taken lightly. To show my interest, I attended that particular organizations programs, got to know even more of its members, and even attended interest sessions.

By the end of my first semester of college I began to realize that in order to become a member of ANY Greek Letter Organization you had to maintain a certain GPA before you could even be considered. For me, because of some personal circumstances that made my GPA drop below the requirement I knew pledging that year was out of the question.

In the years that followed, I did continue to make my interest known to that organizations members. However, by the time my senior year came rolling around it was too late to pledge Undergrad and I was WAY too busy to even begin to the intake process of any organization. If I ever do pledge one day, I want to be able to focus on the initiate process and be able to learn and grow with those members of that sorority without any outside obstacles or distractions in the way.

If ever that day comes I’ll be ready, until then I plan to stay inspired by its members, continue to research, and possibly one day pledge at a Local Graduate Chapter, if the opportunity ever presents itself.

(Spring 2011 Beta Gamma Chapter – This Probate Video was AMAZING!)

DISCLAIMER: This is based on my personal experience, I am in no shape or form bashing any organization of the Divine 9 nor state that I have pledged or will have a guaranteed spot. This blog is just stating the facts based on my personal experiences. If you are a member of a Greek Letter Organization or not and have something to say, please share! But DO NOT waste your time leaving ugly comments, as they will be subject to deletion. Thank you.

My friend Jameel, Morehouse c/o 2005, contacted me recently about a fundraising effort that he is involved in via his fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc, and I thought I would help him out by spreading the word. The 501(c)3 organization of his fraternity’s local chapter is is fundraising for its Ira Dorsey Scholarship Endowment Fund by running in the Marine Corps Marathon on 31 October 2010. Click here to donate.

His original letter is at the end of this post but quickly he is asking for support on three levels:

Crawl: $1.00 per mile  = $26.00
Walk: $2.00 per mile  = $52.00
Run: $3.00   per mile =   $78.00.

I myself donated to the cause today and I encourage you to do the same. Every donation helps! In this recovering economy especially,  many students particularly students of color are passing on college due to the exponential increases in the costs over the last 15-20 years. Unfortunately, the recent mini-depression that the United States is now out of has not ended in the homes of those on “Main Street” especially on the “Main Streets” of blue color workers and people of color. Your support is just one way to assure that someone else has a chance at a college education that will change their life.

Feel free to click on the links above to learn more about the Scholarship Fund as well as the Marathon. Once done with your background research: Click Here to Donate.

All the best!

DNMP

P.S. – If there is anything that you wish were different or better about society where you are today. Planting the seed of giving to causes like this are just a small action that you can do to make this world a better place than when you left it. Your donation could go to the first Latina US president or the first Black woman US president or even the first Black Female Speaker of the House (my research is on women in politics which is why I used these examples )

Jameel’s Letter

Brother/Sister,

You may already know, I am preparing to run in this years marathon.  I never ran a marathon before and am on the one hand excited about this opportunity and on the other wondering can I make 26 miles- lol.  However, I am truly very excited about this years run.  A few of my fraternity brothers and I made a team (which is comprised of Alphas and non-Alphas) and are running and raising money for scholarship for deserving students.  As you already know I am an avid supporter of helping students gain college access and graduate.  By providing students with scholarships, their chances at attending and graduating from college is enhanced.

My fraternity provides scholarships every year to students through our 501(c)3 arm – which goes to high school students entering college.  By supporting this event with a financial contribution, you will be helping a young student actualize their dreams.

To make a donation- please click on the link below and donate.  There are three levels which I recommend that you give (however feel free to give more if you so wish).  I am running 26 miles and all I ask is that you give $1, $2, or only $3 dollars for every mile towards this run. The levels are as follows:

Crawl: $1.00 per mile  = $26.00
Walk: $2.00 per mile  = $52.00
Run: $3.00   per mile =   $78.00

Please note that the race is coming up soon (October 22nd) so we need donations fast.  All you need to do is click on the link below and make your donation with a credit/debt card:

http://www.active.com/donate/teamiradorsey/Jameel2010

Thanks in advance!

Jameel

Traveling again. I’m racing along the tarmac in a taxi with James, a 17 year old back at Pepo for a break from Secondary school. To my right is Goolo, the cab driver. Not a word had been spoken in 20 minutes. We all know the deal. We’re headed to Kambi Garba.

Part of what I’m doing at Pepo La Tumaini is helping to fill in the gaps in their capacity. In this case they need photos. APHIA II EASTERN, the East Africa branch of USAID, has required photos for all the children they give Antiretroviral Aids medicine to. A seemingly small demand, except Pepo doesn’t have a camera. Nor do any of these 899 children have photos available. 28 are registered in Kambi Garba. Not bad I thought.

This is my third trip to Kambi Garba in four days. It’s a small dusty dry village with nomadic tribes. Thorns tangle around dirt yards, hiding dilapidated shacks and the occasional camel. Residents are largely Borana, Somali, and Turkana. None of whom have the friendliest history toward one another.

The first journey resulted in five photos of registered children and 15 photos of children who have been orphaned since the registration list was made. Some street kids threw rocks at us while we got a tour of the local water sources.

“Trash water” Sarafina Kamaro calls it. She’s a community Elder and our contact in Kambi Garba, “Look, it’s full of trash.”

It is. Isiolo river travels through a military base, several villages, then town before here. The water has a stink to it.

“We drink the water, then we get sick. Stomach aches.” She goes on.

“You don’t’ boil it?”

“No,” she answers looking back at the mile walk to her home.

She takes us to a small spring in the side of the river. It’s tucked away in a rocky hole only small enough for a small water bottle. A young girl of about 8 sticks her hand in the hole fills the bottle and empties it into a 10 liter jerry can weighing about 30 pounds when full. It takes awhile.

A day later, the second trip resulted in four photos. Only one of them from the register.
I’m remembering all this when the cab swerves to avoid a herd of goats. Goolo doesn’t flinch. He just turns up the radio. Somali music, I’m thinking.

About 30 minutes after leaving Isiolo town we arrive at the end of the tarmac. This is where the road ends in Kenya. From here it’s dirt roads all the way to Somalia. Small buses shoot like bullets out of the desert leaving dust like vapor trails.

It reminds me of a friend in the U.S., a Somali refugee. He told me with a chuckle, “After the soldiers had killed my family I walked to Kenya. Then they told us to leave. So I walked to Ethiopia. When it got bad there, I walked back to Kenya. You can never take a car! You’ll get shot!” He had the biggest grin on his face.

But the present is different here and construction has begun again on the tarmac. Large hills of gravel and sand loom over a newly leveled path fading into the distance. Children wave from atop the mounds. The Kenyan government is extending the road to some nearby tourist destinations, safari parks and the like. For a while longer, the road still ends in Isiolo.

James and I get out of the taxi and pay Goolo. He nods and speeds away.

We go down some small dirt paths off the main road. They wind to and fro. The thorn fences rise and create a tunnel over us. We have to walk in single file.

“They are called Panya routes. We are panya here!” James lets out with a smile.

“Panya?” I ask.

“Rats! We are rats.”

A tattered looking woman stands roadside as if waiting for us. We ask her for directions and she takes us the rest of the way. Sarafina’s home is a bit of an orphanage. Five women saunter about doing various chores and tending to children. There are near 20 children in various states of disarray. A good number of the Kambi Garba youth are in school, but these children are simply around. They range from 6 months to 10 years. We exchange greetings and start going over who is left on the list.

Selina Nawatan: Nomads School
Shadrak Ekidor: Moved to a different district
Zainabu: Lives in Shambani
Christine Engngiri: Lives in Shambani
Lokale Goko: New Life School
Akuta Ngoko: Has gone on a journey
Kebo Akwara : unknown…

10 more are living in Shambani, a small village just across the river.

“Can we go?” I ask.

The yard erupts with chatter. Women with babies on their backs and hips, old grandmas who can barley walk, a drunken woman from the street jumps in the fray.

“They will not take us,” James translates. “They say the people there are so much for money. They say to forget the children there and just take care of the ones here.”

As I surmise and later confirm with the Chief of the area, Kambi Garba and Shambani have a long standing grudge. No one is clear why, but I’ve grown to suspect water issues. Whatever the problem, they’re not taking or letting us go there.

After taking about 10 photos, we hear yelling from a group running down a road 100 feet off.

“Wait here,” Sarafina lets out then runs off leaving us with a drunk woman demanding I take her photo.

James and I guess it’s another illegal alcohol raid. Walking through Isiolo town this morning, we caught glimpses of some police raids at some local changa huts. Changa being the Kenyan equivalent of moonshine. It’s cheap and poisonous. I know of at least one person who used it to commit suicide.

We eventually make our way to the confusion. Someones cut a camel with a machete. A Turkana man has slashed the leg of an eight-foot camel. There is an angry crowd and some official looking individuals. The camel sits on the ground bleeding. Another stands by its side chewing lethargically. Three weeks later I find out the man who slashed the camel meant to feed his family with it.

A child from the list is at the scene. Another picture taken and name crossed out.

Half an hour later, James and I are walking down the tarmac. We’re heading to New Life. A primary school a kilometer outside of Kambi Garba. We need a photo of a single attending student. The sun beats down and we share a water bottle.

“So what are you doing after school?” I ask.

“Where or what?” James responds.

“Both.”

“I’d like to be… a doctor or a journalist. Yes, I’d very much like to be a journalist!”

My ears perk.

“Yes. I’m even secretary in the journalist club at school. I love it very much. …I’m very interested in people from everywhere. Ai, those journalists get to know things. They are always so very busy with the world!”

A police wagon roars down the tarmac. It’s carrying several of the people from the camel incident. It kicks up dust and we’re alone again.

After another ten minutes we reach New Life School. The gate is chained. Dried plants line the fence. Inside it’s a ghost town. Dusty and empty.

“You. Is the school open?” James calls out to a child milling about near the road.

“Closed,” the kid responds.

“Closed for everything?” I ask.

James gives a questioning shrug, looking a little hopeless. We stand there for a moment soaking in the sun then head back to Kambi Garba.

Sarafina explains she’ll arrange with the child later. We then find out the ride we expected isn’t coming. And we haven’t enough for a taxi or bus. It’s about a eight kilometer walk back to town. We’ve hitchhiked before, but it’s just police and army vehicles today. Not ideal.

A little ways down the road a hulking tour bus rolls by. It’s a 12 wheel, 20 foot high, yellow and green vehicle. More commonly used to help the army traverse rivers. The tired looking tourists look down from a high.

20 photos down 879 to go. I know I’m not going to finish taking the pictures. And I know Pepo won’t either. The occasional volunteer might have the camera and the time. Each of the 899 children need a daily activity report as well. That’s 899 pages a day from a largely illiterate community.

James and I walk past the construction at the end of the road and back towards town. We spend most of our time talking and dreaming of cool milk or water. We go back and forth about whether soda is good for quenching thirst. But neither of us really care what we’re going find in town. Really anything would do. ]]>