A young Sudanese woman working to make change

http://www.mercedesgrandin.com/Website/Stories/Marcy%20Angelo.htmlMarcy Angelo’s Dream A young Sudanese woman strives to put on a benefit concert for her country By Mercedes Grandin · Photography by Kari Wehrs  “Being a 17-year-old Sudanese woman, this benefit concert is more personal and a much bigger deal for me than for most.  This concert came to me in a dream.  I had a vision and will do whatever it takes to execute this vision to make it a reality.”  --excerpt from Marcy Angelo’s benefit concert proposal letter. IT’S SUNDAY in mid-October, and the late afternoon sun creates long shadows across the Parkside Community Center on Grant Street in Portland, Maine.  The Sudanese Community Association is scheduled to have its weekly meeting here at 3 p.m., but it is almost three and no one is inside.  Seventeen-year-old Marcelina (Marcy) Knight Angelo, and her friend Ekhlas, who is here for moral support, enter the Center and look around the room expectantly.  Marcy sits down on a couch in the foyer and waits, laughing and joking with Ekhlas while nervously tapping her feet.  For her junior year independent study at Casco Bay High School, Marcy is planning a benefit concert for Sudan.  Out of respect for her community, and as a way to gain sponsorship for her concert, Marcy wants to present her concert idea before the Sudanese Community Association’s Board of Directors. Marcy’s father, Angelo Okot, President of the Sudanese Community Association, enters wearing a brown suit and tie.  Angelo walks into the large meeting room and begins to set up for the meeting.  Soon after, several others enter the building and help him arrange chairs and set up long rectangular tables.  Marcy’s father has given her five minutes to present her idea in front of the members of the Council, who Marcy says “are a group of pretty traditional men who don’t believe that women should speak out.”    Because she has a lot more planning of the concert to do, Marcy wants to first present her idea to just the Council Board, a group of nine directors who have significant voice in community decision-making, rather than present in front the larger monthly general assembly meeting that draws about 200 members from the 1300 Sudanese in Portland.  Marcy is afraid both the council and the assembly will be critical or might try to change her idea.  “I’m a young woman, also a teenager, they might think I’m stepping out of line,” she says.  “This is something I’m doing, not an affiliate of the Association, so they can’t take credit for it.”    Marcy’s father wants her to present to the Board of Directors first, then to the general assembly.  “I want to assure that her message gets around to everyone,” he says. Marcy doesn’t know what language to speak to the Council: Acholi, Arabic, or English.  Not all of the Council members speak Acholi, Marcy’s native dialect.  There are over ten different Sudanese tribes with different dialects that are represented in the Council.  She also doesn’t want to speak in Arabic, because even though almost everyone speaks it, Marcy is not fluent in Arabic and therefore fears her message won’t come across as thoroughly.  She decides that she will speak to the Council in English, because even though English is not their native language, the majority can understand it, and Marcy can speak it fluently. Marcy has not yet told her parents the details of her concert idea, a plan she’s developed since a dream she had months ago.  “They will be negative, they will ask questions,” she says.  “It’s tough to win their respect.  They are used to a very different, very traditional way of life.  The way you grow up in my culture, your parents don’t pat you on the back or give you compliments all the time.  It’s helped me develop a tough skin and push myself, though.  It’s helped me develop my own standards in terms of what I think I should be proud of.”   When she learns that today’s meeting will include more than just the board of directors, Marcy asks a family friend who is present to ask her father if it is okay not to speak today because she doesn’t want to present in front of a larger group.  The young man enters the meeting room where Council members have gathered and begun talking.  After speaking with Angelo, he returns to tell Marcy that her presentation has been postponed due to pressing issues that need to be addressed in today’s meeting.  Marcy’s shoulders slacken as she lets out a sigh of relief.  “I didn’t write anything down,” she says.  “This benefit concert is for aiding the ongoing conflict in Sudan, not parts of Sudan, but Sudan as a whole.  I feel as though when we isolate certain parts of a conflict we give way for other parts of a conflict to escalate.”  IT’S A THURSDAY morning, and the halls of Casco Bay High School are a flurry of activity, as students rush to class in every direction.  Marcy stops to hug a male friend in the hall, then chats with several other friends before walking into math class.  She’s wearing her typical outfit: denim jeans and a denim jacket, mid-calf black suede cowgirl boots, and large gold hoop earrings.  During class, Marcy and her friend Ekhlas whisper to each other in Arabic, laughing and pointing to two boys in their class.  Ekhlas is from Darfur in Northern Sudan, and speaks a different tribal dialect, but both girls speak Arabic.  Although they are both also fluent in English, Marcy and Ekhlas switch to Arabic when they want to be discreet.  Although Marcy is one of only a handful of minority students at Casco Bay High School, she doesn’t have any problems fitting in, and is well-liked by her classmates.  Although she says that her parents “don’t even know I talk to boys,” Marcy has many male friends at Casco Bay and flirts with boys just like many American teenagers.  “My parents sacrificed a lot for me to be able to come to the U.S.  and get a good education,” Marcy says.  “I guess I always remember that in our country I would not get the same education, I would not get the same opportunities.”    She is planning to apply to college, and her top choice is Oxford, where she hopes to study cultural anthropology.  “I’ve always been interested in cultures and how cultures change,” she says.  “It’s one thing I’ve been consistently passionate about.”    The last time Marcy travelled outside of the country was when she and her family were resettled to the United States from Egypt over ten years ago, but she hopes to take a year before college to travel and do community service in Africa.  For her final class of the day, her independent study, Marcy works on her benefit concert project.  While other juniors at Casco Bay are doing independent study projects in photography or on the U.S.  government, Marcy’s project is unique.  Although she is planning to hold the concert on April 5, 2008, Marcy has already begun preparing for it.  She envisions over 200 people packed into the Portland Marriott’s banquet room. In her yellow notebook titled “Benefit Concert,” Marcy has written down a rough play-by-play of her concert’s proposed schedule.  Her list includes speakers, spoken word performances, film footage from an uncle’s recent trip to Sudan, and traditional Sudanese music and dances from different Sudanese tribes.  Marcy’s goal is for this list of participants to include members from every Sudanese tribe that is represented in Portland: Acholi, Azande, Fur, Nuer, Dinka, Madi, Bari, Lotuko, Kakwa.  Following her concert agenda is a rough draft of Marcy’s proposal letter that she intends to send to potential sponsors in hopes of gaining their support.  Susan McCray, Marcy’s independent study advisor, meets with her during this period to go over the draft of her proposal letter.  Ms.  McCray has been Marcy’s English teacher since eighth grade at Casco Bay, and the two have developed a strong advisor/advisee relationship.  When Marcy first had the dream about the concert, she called Ms.  McCray the next day to tell her about it.  Ms.  McCray told Marcy she should make the dream a reality and turn it into her independent study project.  At the time, Marcy wasn’t aware that Ms.  McCray was to be her independent study advisor. The two sit down at a desk for their conference.  “There’s so much good material here,” Ms.  McCray begins.  “It’s so exciting, it’s gonna be great!” “It’s getting more overwhelming, I can’t do anything without sponsors, and I want to start doing things,” Marcy says.  “I think you want to tell us more about who you are at the beginning,” Ms.  McCray says, referring to the opening of Marcy’s proposal letter.  “You have this vision, but you need to describe what it is you see, have more of your process of why you came to this.”   Part of Marcy’s vision is to raise money to help all of the tribes within Sudan, instead of focusing on one tribe or area, such as Darfur.  “I want to give the funds raised to a charity that will disperse the money equally over the entire country, not just to one tribe or group,” Marcy says. “What’s most addictive is your passion,” says Ms.  McCray.  “‘People don’t know about my country, I’m going to a predominantly white school, and inside of me is how do I bring those two worlds together’ – is that right?” Ms.  McCray asks, looking up from her round glasses. “Yes,” Marcy answers.  The discussion shifts to Marcy’s impending presentation before the Sudanese Community Association Council.  “This is an incredibly interesting moment,” Ms.  McCray says.  “You want their support, you want to be respectful of them, and it shows the dilemma that you live in, because you also want to be yourself.”     “I love my country, despite the poverty, famine, war and corruption.  I love everything from the deep valley desert to the rapids of the Nile River that courses through Sudan. I want to give back to my country, and help bring peace to the land generations of my family have grown old in.”   INSIDE HER HOUSE on Grant Street in Portland, Marcy tends to the meat stew she is preparing for dinner.  The living room is decorated with photos of the seven Angelo children, and couches are adorned with handmade crocheted Sudanese furniture covers.  Framed African art and photos from Sudan line the walls.  In the kitchen, Marcy takes a pot off the stove, angry at herself because some of the meat has burned on the bottom of the pan.  She looks worried.  “My mom will be home soon, I’ve got to get this right,” she says in a perfect American accent, moving the entire dish into a larger pot and then scrubbing the burnt pot furiously.  There is an air of tension in the room, as Marcy moves quickly and efficiently to finish preparing the dish.  She starts by chopping up onions and simmering them.  Her dark brown hands peel and cut a clove of garlic, preparing to combine all the ingredients into the simmering pot.  Marcy cooks for her family almost every day.  It’s one of her regular duties in the Angelo household.  When asked if Sudanese men cook, Marcy replies with a laugh, “I’ve never seen a Sudanese man cook in my life!” The Angelo family was one of the first Sudanese families to come to Portland, Maine.  They arrived in 1996 from Egypt, where they had fled from civil war in Sudan.  In the last decade, the Angelos have become part of more than 2,000 Sudanese refugees who have been resettled to Portland.  The city is now home to the largest Sudanese population in the United States.  When Marcy first arrived in Portland, she was seven and couldn’t speak or write any English.  However, by the fourth grade she could speak and write English fluently.  The smell of steaming meat and vegetables wafts through the house, as Marcy clangs pots, putting them away and wiping down the kitchen counter.  Just as she closes the lid on the meat stew, the front door opens.  Marcy’s mom Mary enters after a day of housekeeping at Mercy Hospital.  She walks into the kitchen and begins to speak to Marcy in quick and directed Acholi, interspersed with some words in English.  Marcy’s mother’s face is stern, but she laughs every so often to break the serious mood that hangs over the kitchen.  Marcy’s tone immediately changes to one of obedience and respect, as her perfect English switches to fast and rhythmic Acholi.  Her expression becomes serious and focused as she moves about the kitchen, making sure everything is in its proper order.  Marcy doesn’t make direct eye contact with her mother; she looks down or away, stirring the pot and listening as her mother talks to her.  “When you go to school here you’re taught to look people in the eyes directly and that’s considered respectful,” Marcy says, “but in my culture it’s considered really disrespectful to look your parents in the eye like that when they’re talking to you.”  Marcy describes the challenges of being Sudanese in America.  “I go to school and I learn a completely new set of ideals and then I come home and I have to abide by a whole other set of ideals.”    Marcy’s parents have made it a priority for their children to speak their native Acholi dialect at home so that, as Marcy’s father says, “they will never forget about their home.”   “It’s easy for Sudanese youth to get caught up in wanting that American life, wanting to be able to go out and do whatever you want,” Marcy says, “but you gotta remember who you are and where you come from.”    The Angelos hold on to many Sudanese traditions in the United States.  “If I were still living in Sudan, I would probably be getting married, probably already married with kids,” Marcy says.  Although Marcy’s parents don’t expect Marcy to marry so young because education is a priority, she will be required to marry a Sudanese man, preferably within her own tribe and religion.  Like most tribes from southern Sudan, the Acholi are primarily Christian, unlike the predominantly Muslim northern Sudanese tribes.  Another tradition the Angelos will keep is that of Sudanese women having a dowry.  In contrast to the strict marriage traditions for women, Sudanese men in the United States are allowed to marry whomever they choose, including anyone outside of their country, religion, or race.   Marcy is not convinced, however.  “I don’t think I want to marry a Sudanese man.  We would share the same culture, and in our culture boys are spoiled,” she says.  “I don’t want to be with someone who is a product of that.  I have a hard time balancing my culture with who I want to be as a person.”  In Sudan, a girl isn’t allowed to spend time with a boy unless she is seriously considering marriage to him.  Suitors come to the house and meet the entire family in order to gain the family’s approval before dating.  Marcy is allowed to socialize with her friends every once in a while, with certain limitations.  “Going out and partying isn’t exactly okay,” Marcy says.  “Whereas most teenagers would be able to be really open with their parents with the things they do socially, I can’t do that.”    Recently Marcy had a fight with her mom because a boy called their house, and even though he was just a friend, Marcy’s mom was upset that a boy would be calling for her. Marcy and many of her peers, including her cousins, siblings and friends, all consider themselves to be Sudanese, not Sudanese-American or American.  In addition to preserving their culture’s traditions, many Sudanese youth want to give back to their country in some way.  Marcy’s cousin, a junior at Portland High School, says he has a promise to his mother to “help my community somehow, in some way, help out.  I’ll always be an African by my heart; nothing will ever change that for me.”    Many parents of Sudanese youth, like Marcy’s, strongly encourage their children to return to Sudan to make a positive impact on their country.  “These kids have lost their birth place,” Marcy’s father says.  “We can talk with them, but they will not get the values of our culture the way that we got them.  They don’t get that in American schools.”   “One reason why my benefit concert will be different is that all of my performers will be of Sudanese origin.  Not only will I be raising funds for relief, but I will also be helping to educate the public about the culture and tradition that is the core of my country.”  EVERY SUNDAY from noon to two, Marcy participates in a traditional Sudanese dance and singing class organized by her 25-year-old sister, Lilly.  Lilly drives her mother’s van around Portland to pick up Acholi girls, so that they can gather and learn their traditional tribal dances and songs.  It’s almost noon on Sunday and Marcy, who is usually excited to dance and see her Sudanese friends, can barely work up the motivation and energy to participate.  Several hours after finally discussing her concert idea with her father, Marcy is at home, frustrated and visibly upset.  Her usually wide smile is gone, and her entire demeanor is stooped and exhausted.  Marcy says she and her father “do not see eye to eye” about how she will present her concert idea.  “He just nodded.  He was like ‘Okay,’ but didn’t want to get involved,” Marcy says of their conversation.  “When in reality, this is going to be the most challenging thing I’ve ever done and I need that support from my parents.”    Although visibly stressed, Marcy gathers her strength and goes to dance class. The room inside the Portland West Community Center is vibrating with the sound of feet stomping, arms swaying, and bodies moving in unison to the sounds of African drumming and singing.  Marcy moves to the tempo of the drum beat, her feet tapping twice on each side, her hands outstretched and fluttering, palms face up.  Marcy is one of the oldest girls in the group, and stands out among a handful of other teenagers.                                                                Marcy switches from a side-to-side movement to quick forward-stepping foot taps, her right foot moves forward while both arms drop to her sides.  All of the girls move back three steps, all right hands go up, then all feet stomp down together on a loud single beat.  Some of the younger girls in the group (the youngest is five) struggle with the quick transitions, their hands and legs moving slightly out of step.  Marcy has mastered the steps and is one of the leaders in the group.  The younger ones watch her wide-eyed.  Most of the girls in the group were born in the U.S.  or, like Marcy, came to the U.S.  when they were very young, so they don’t remember much of life in Sudan or its traditions.  Lilly conceived of the idea to bring Sudanese youth together to dance and sing to their traditional music.  “This is the only way we stay connected to our culture,” Lilly says.  Earlier in the week, Marcy finally explained her idea for the concert to Lilly.  Lilly challenged Marcy about her idea, and urged her to focus and explain where the money raised would go.  “Helping all of Sudan is too broad,” Lilly said, telling Marcy to be very specific with her description of the concert and with the direction of its funds if she wants to gain support from the Sudanese community.  Lilly explained that the Council will want to know exactly where the money will go before they decide to give her their support. After the girls finish their first dance, they take a short break and suddenly switch from speaking Acholi to singing the song “Bed” by J.  Holliday, one they’ve memorized from MTV.  “I see you in the morning, in the morning,” they chant, before being stopped by Lilly, who reminds them that their focus is on traditional Sudanese music and dance, not American pop culture.  Marcy looks up from braiding one of the younger girl’s hair, then resumes her position among the group as they prepare for the next dance to begin.  A video of Sudanese dancers in Uganda gets loaded into the VCR, and the girls line up in rows, moving their feet again in time to the music.  Wearing black shorts and a white t-shirt, Marcy’s strong legs and arms stand out among the other 11 girls as she moves in tempo to the music.  For the moment, dancing seems to ease Marcy’s worries about presenting her concert idea to the Council.        “To invest in this project is to invest in change, peace, and in the fact that bringing your passions forth at an age as young as mine is possible.  So please help me in changing Sudan and the world.”  ON NOVEMBER 30, the Rotary Club of Portland hosts its Youth Service Award presentation luncheon to honor and recognize local youth for their community involvement and service.  Rotary Club members and invited guests file into the historic Shepley-Hunnewell mansion on State Street, entering the large banquet room on the first floor.  The room has been decorated with wreaths, garlands, and lights for the holiday season.  Round tables are positioned before a panel with a podium at the front of the room.  This month’s recipient of the Youth Service award is Marcy Angelo.  Marcy’s parents have been invited and sit with her at the “Reserved” table in the front of the room.  After Ben Lowry, President of the Rotary Club, says a few opening words, a faculty member at Casco Bay High School, Leslie Applebaum, presents Marcy with the Youth Service Award.  “In addition to her service at Casco Bay as a student ambassador, Marcy has also volunteered at the West End Community Policing Center and at Seeds of Peace,” Applebaum says.  “At Casco Bay, every junior develops an action plan to change the world.  Marcy is developing a benefit concert for Sudan.  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”    Applebaum then introduces Marcy’s father, who says a few words about her.  “I want to give my personal thanks to all for this event,” Angelo says.  “We left Sudan in 1995 because of a civil war that had been waging for four years and is still going on now.  When Marcy came to the U.S.  she picked up life here pretty quick.  This is a girl who has developed to perpetuate woman dignity.  She is asking ‘How can the world be peaceful today?’  And right now she’s focused on Sudan.  Marcy wants to help to bring human dignity to her country.  She is developing this idea and we all hope her words and efforts will one day save our country.”     Following her father, Marcy steps forward and adjusts the microphone stand to her height.  “Sorry, I’m not as tall as everyone else here,” she jokes.  “Thank you for this award.  All the volunteer work I do, I don’t really see as an achievement.  I think it’s something everyone should do, because only by helping people can you truly discover your passions.  I know there have been a lot of benefits for Sudan, but this concert will be different, because it’s coming from me as a young Sudanese woman.  I need sponsors too, so if anyone wants to get involved…” she pauses, her hint followed by laughs from the audience.                                                                     At the end of the meeting, Ben Lowry walks up to the podium.  “Marcy, I’ve got my business card here,” he says, “and I intend to give it to you to help you with your concert.”    Marcy looks up from her table, a wide smile spanning her face, as her parents look on with pride. Mercedes is an '07 alumna of the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies in Portland, Maine and an ’03 alumna of Bates College.  Mercedes has spent four years in the publishing industry as an editor, and is currently a freelance writer and digital media content specialist at Diversified Business Communications in Portland, Maine.