There are days you don't forget.  Just as Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, when he stood before Congress on December 8, 1941, there are dates "which will live in infamy".  When you experience one of those days, you remember where you were, or who you were with, or what you saw.  Sometimes a song, or a smell, or a single image can stir up so many memories.  Because, unfortunately, we all have lived through some of these kinds of days.  On Memorial Day, it's important to remember those who fell on those infamous days.

In my memory, the world was introduced to acts of terrorism on September 5-6, 1972, in Munich, Germany, during the Summer Olympics.  The group Black September kidnapped members of the Israeli Olympic team.  The image I will always remember is a hooded member of that group looking over a balcony in the Olympic village.  

Closer to home, acts of terrorism never really shook the United States until September 11, 2001.  That day is seared into the minds of everyone who experienced it.  It's absolutely insane to consider that this happened about twenty-two years ago, so in order to really recall it well, you probably have to be at least thirty years old!  How is that possible?  People who remember December 7, 1941, probably ask the same question.

I remember exactly where I was on September 11, 2001.  I had just moved to Belgium.  I had no telephone, no internet, no television, and hardly anything else as I waited for my shipment to arrive from Africa.  I remember walking down a shopping street in downtown Antwerp and saw a crowd gathered in front of some television screens in a store window.  The news was in Dutch, so I never really understood the full impact of what I saw until I arrived at work the following morning and turned on my computer.  The United States was introduced to the War on Terrorism, and it would never be the same.  Since that day, friends and family have learned where Iraq, Iran, Kuwait, Afghanistan, and other distant lands are located as they have sent off spouses, children, grandchildren, and other loved ones.  Some never to return home alive.

This weekend, I learned of the Ohio Fallen Heroes Memorial Park, established in 2005 and a mere twenty minutes from my home.  It's the only memorial of its kind in the state, dedicated to those killed in the Global War on Terrorism since September 11, 2001.  It was the proper weekend to make a visit to Sunbury, Ohio.  As stated on their website, the "goal is to never let people forget the sacrifices made for our freedom and to take care of the families of our fallen heroes now and in the future." 

For most of my visit, I was the only person present.  It was humbling to walk among those who had given so much for my freedom.  The park is thirteen acres with over 300 crosses and a few stars of David, but the number has been steadily growing each year.  If you take the time, on the memorial website, you can also see the photographs of each of the fallen.  Walking among the crosses was moving, but then adding faces to each of the names made their sacrifice so much more personal.  There are no words to adequately thank these brave men and women, as well as their families and friends. 

Okay, okay, I know this is all heavy reading.  So, I'm going to end on a lighter note.  You probably have never heard of Sunbury, Ohio.  Why should you?  For years and years, it was just a sleepy little village.  Now it is an exploding bedroom community for Columbus.  Still, why create such a memorial in Sunbury, of all places?  Well, I have an answer for you.  It is within ten miles of the geographic center of Ohio.  So, that makes sweet little Sunbury convenient for everyone in the state.  And, now you know.

Go forth and be thankful for your freedom.  Freedom is never free. ​

My mother always wanted me to believe and accept the truth of the saying, “Bloom where you’re planted.”  This was especially true if the plant was in Ohio.  She was not very interested in my blooming in Morocco, Liberia, the Philippines, Zambia, Belgium, or anywhere else.  No, she was Ohio "born and bred", and she seriously hoped that I would do likewise.

When I was a kid, nobody I knew ever left the country.  Most people never even left Ohio!  So, although I always loved maps and globes, as well as learning countries and capitals, I never once for a moment thought I’d set foot out of the United States.  Never, not once, ever!

Although I only recently learned that it was penned by William Shakespeare in The Merry Wives of Windsor, I have always been “the world is my oyster” kind of person.  And, I have wandered the planet more than most people I know, gathering friends, memories, folktales, recipes, photographs, and so very many opportunities along the way.  There have also been near-death experiences, several bouts of malaria, rogues with knives, as well as assorted mishaps, disasters, and even a prison story.  Most of these tales were never revealed to my mother.  If you consistently read my blogs, you know more than she ever did.

(Well, I must say, life is full of surprises.  

Ever since I can remember wanting to travel, there were two destinations that topped my “must visit” list.  One was Acapulco, Mexico, because I wanted to see the cliff divers.  I've never been there yet.  It doesn't appear to be very likely either since Acapulco doesn't seem to be a safe destination these days.  But, I've more than made up for not going to southwest Mexico.  And, eventually, my travels also took me to my second childhood destination, the south of France.
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As I’ve pried open that oyster, I’ve walked the Great Wall of China, stood over the line of the equator in Ecuador, straddled the Prime Meridian in London, taken at least twenty African safaris, and wandered across more than one hundred countries.  My artwork was used in a project with Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  I designed two postage stamps for the Post Office in the Philippines.  My clip art is used around the world.  And, perhaps my biggest claim to fame is my photograph in the 100th anniversary edition of The National Geographic Magazine (not one I took, but a photo of me!)  There are no signs of slowing down.  My travels now involve my murals most of the time.  And, right now the total is 63 murals in 27 countries.  So, yep, I keep working on that oyster and enjoying everywhere I wander.

In recent years, I've been writing and illustrating children's books.  But, this month I tried something different.  My usual photographs of choice are portraits of people I meet along my pathways.  However, I tend to take a lot of photographs of flowers as well.  That probably is thanks to my mother's influence.  She always grew flowers.  The latest book I've created is Bloom Where You Wander (soon available on Lulu).  I started off with 14 flowers from my travels as well as their accompanying stories.  But, the following day, I just had to expand the book.  There were so many flowers that needed to be included, so I doubled the size of the project.
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​I made it a point, every day, multiple times a day, to stroll the neighborhood where I stayed in Lomé.  I knew it was the only way to get any kind of feel for the neighborhood, a little taste of Africa.  I wasn’t sure how successful it would be, but the longer I walked, the more familiar the people were with the white man who wore a straw fedora in their midst. 
 
I thought the best moment of my walking tour was going to be at the front porch of the woman who sold hand-crafted brooms, baskets, fans, and other kitchen needs.  A man there took an interest in me and explained all of the items I didn’t recognize.  Well, there was one item, mysterious balls of clay, whose purpose he couldn’t communicate to me.  (The women at my hotel completed my Togolese education.)  I feared they might be balls of swamp dirt like in Liberia.  For some reason, pregnant women felt the need to lick them and eat them.  Nothing good can come from that kind of country medicine.  But, no, these clay balls were used to clean up, or touch up, clay coal pots (which are kind of like an African hibachi).  If your clay coal pot is dirty, scratched, or chipped, these clay balls are the go-to solution to fix them up.  Wet the ball and dab a little more clay on whatever needs fixing.
 

After my brief explanation of the hand-crafted goods, I was even allowed to photograph to my heart’s content.  That doesn’t always happen in big cities.
 
The following day, I returned to take a few more photos.  As I walked away, there was a beautiful white mural design on a red/orange wall.  I thought, “As soon as the two men behind me pass by, I’ll take a photo of that wall.”
 
They didn’t pass by.
 
They recognized the white guy with the straw fedora from the mural at the ambassador’s residence the previous week.  Yes, I stand out in a crowd while in West Africa.  They asked, in French, of course, about my muraling with Jean Koumy and the woman in red (who happened to be the US ambassador). 
 
Then, they invited me to come through the gate.  In this part of the world, homes have walls topped with broken glass or razor wire.  You’re only supposed to enter if you are welcomed.  One of these days, it is bound to blow up in my face.  In Morocco, I followed a person I just met and went up the stairway in the medina to meet his family.  I wasn’t sure if I should do that.  Well, I was fairly sure I shouldn’t do it.  But, it turned out to be the best thing I’ve ever done in any of my travels.  I met my Moroccan family that still keeps in touch with me.
 
In Fiji, I hopped in a cab with a guy I met at a souvenir shop.  He promised to take me home so I could drink kava with him as his local watering hole.  I slightly questioned my sanity when the cab left the city (and friends from Jamaica assured me that I should never do that on their island), but I had a very welcoming experience in Fiji as well.

I had forgotten what African heat was like.  Okay, honestly, I’m not good with heat anywhere.  Caribbean, Southeast Asia, Africa, or Ohio, it doesn’t matter.  I sweat more than any other person I’ve ever met.  My natural look anywhere in the tropics is completely drenched.  When I tried to photograph student art outside in the Philippines, I had to be careful not to drip on the artwork.  Meanwhile, in the Peace Corps, I remember waking up so hot at night that my skin would sting.  I’ve never experienced that anywhere else but Liberia.  I’d take a bucket bath and pray that I’d fall asleep before I started stinging again.  No, I don’t handle tropical heat well at all.  Lomé, Togo, was no exception.
 
For the week that I painted my mural at the US Ambassador’s residence in Togo, the mural was outside, but we had an awning for some shade.  As long as I stayed under its protection, I was drenched but comfortable (provided there was plenty of cold water to guzzle).  For a huge chunk of the rest of my week, I resided in what is considered the nicest hotel in the city, just around the corner from the mural.  I really didn’t have to set foot out of the hotel for any reason.  I could shop, swim, relax, eat, bank, communicate online (to some extent) and be entertained – almost all in air-conditioned comfort.  I did much more of that than usual, because there was whoLly Oppressive huMidity evErywhere!  LOME!
 
For my second week in Lomé, there wasn’t quite so much luxury.  I moved to the Hotel Galion, recommended by Peace Corps Volunteers in Togo when they head to the capital.  If you were never in the Peace Corps, most likely, you’d never stay at the Hotel Galion either.  My standards are not as high as most people I know.  I want safe, relatively clean, and again safe.  Toilets and showers may be down the hall.  But, this time in Lomé, I had my own toilet and shower (such as they were) and I opted for air-conditioning.
 
I just had to!

​The Ambassador’s Residence is located by the extremely lovely Independence Park in Lomé.  Togo did it right.  It’s a beautiful park.  But, it took me a while to find anything within walking distance of the residence, park, and hotel.  For the second week in the city, I wanted to be in a more convenient location for a hint of an African experience, which you just do not get at super luxurious hotels anywhere.  They are the same no matter where you find yourself roaming. They leave me wondering why people even bother to travel.
 
I limited my walking to daylight hours.  It doesn’t matter what city I am in the world. I stay in my room at night.  If someone wants to get mugged or face any multitude of problems while traveling, mix alcohol, crowded bars, and the cover of darkness with your trip.  I don’t risk those problems as I blog about my adventures in the evening hours, safely inside my hotel room.
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The Galion Hotel is about two blocks from the beach where a beautiful palm-lined boulevard accentuates Lomé’s lovely shore.  And, one of the first things I remember hearing from the embassy staff was, “Do not go to the beach at night.  You will be mugged.”  I even read that if you walk along the beach, for added security, walk on the opposite side of the boulevard instead of the water side.  Guess who didn’t walk either shore there?
 
But, I did walk.  Every day.  Lomé has been called “the Paris of West Africa”.  I think it deserves the name.  There are several wide boulevards, and the streets are kept clean.  There is certainly a French influence with some bakeries and restaurants.  However, there is so much more traffic in Paris!  Togo appears to have a lot more motorcycles than cars at the moment.  It was never so hard, or life-threatening, to cross the street.
 
A word of warning to the wanderer in West Africa – you have to look down much more often than you look up and around in big cities.  Sidewalks have uneven surfaces, gaping holes where manhole covers should be, and various other traps to trip you up but good.  It just so much easier to walk on dusty paths in rural villages.  But when it rains, it’s no fun walking anywhere.
 
As I walked the same neighborhood a couple times a day for several days, my face became a little more familiar.  White guys wearing fedora hats stand out a little in West Africa.  And, I particularly enjoyed it when I start to recognize faces like the man who made custom furniture next door, the guy at the fish shop, the woman at the corner stall who sold me cold water, the taxi driver who hung out by my hotel, and the woman whose patio was stuffed with hand-crafted brooms, baskets, fans, and kitchen needs.
 
However, my favorite face was the little woman closer to the shore who made beaded necklaces.  I had absolutely no need for a necklace, but that didn’t stop her from luring me into her shop no bigger than a bathroom.   And, one necklace caught my eye.  Of course, she wanted to sell me two or three, but my eye was captured, and I just needed the one. 
 

If you’ve ever been to Paris, or had a wonderful French teacher like I did in high school, you may have had escargot.  No French experience?  No fine dining in Paris?  Well, they’re snails.  And, snails just are not much to write home about, even when you eat them in Par-ee!  But, my little necklace maker in Lomé made chains with snail shells.  Finally, something useful to do with a slug!  I found it very resourceful and had never seen this in any of my world travels.
 
As I wandered every day around the blocks near my hotel, the neighborhood streets off the boulevards were sandy and so much more interesting.  A variety of things were sold on many street corners.  The pictures I’d never thought I'd get were people collapsed in the corner of a building or atop a bench with a cloth over their faces, trying to escape the heat and humidity.  I understood so very well how it wiped every bit of strength from the body.
 
Every time I walked, whether 15 minutes to find a cool drink of bottled water, or 45 minutes to get a feel for my neighborhood, I came home drenched and drained, sapped of any and all energy.  On record heat days in Liberia, I took five bucket baths to cool down.  That never happened in Togo because I had running water and a shower on this go around.  The Hotel Galion was still a Peace Corps dive, but it was way better than what most volunteers experienced on their sites.
 
Staying in this neighborhood provided me exactly the kind of African experience I hoped for during my extra week in Togo before heading back to Ohio.  Sad but true, I will never get use to wHolly Oppressive huMidity evErywhere!  But, no matter how far off the beaten path I wander, there really is no place like HOME! ​