Afraid

Just watched a display that made me think. That made me think of the color black, But much deeper than just a mere shadow. I thought of the people black. Most times reduced to only a shadow. I am not going to cry the song black people, we have all heard it enough times to be able to recite it word for word and not really listen to said words.

Africa is my poison tonight. Not the continent. Africa the people. Africa the soul. It seems not to have been enough for them to hate us before even knowing us. But to add insult to injury they have made them hate us. The progeny of Africa’s lost. African Americans. Proud to be black? More like proud not to be African. Our own, ashamed and relieved not to have been born us. They walk around crying over the injustice. Falsely tsk tsk-ing the crime on humanity. But deep down can they really know? Can the really feel what I feel? Black pride. They quote and revere and emulate Nelson Mandela and Shaka Zulu. They postulate to the history of the Egyptians and clap fervently at any mention of their “heritage.” And who am I to ridicule that? But do they not see that their lack of sincerity only serves to tarnish the ever deceitful façade of concern and understanding? They throw their money at us and their rehearsed and meaningless platitudes. They make excuses and hide behind ignorance as if we are so foolish as not to be able to see through their façade.

I am not so foolish. I can see that you pity me simply for being who I am. Even without having to find out who that really is. They have hoodwinked you. They’ve turned you against me. Through your smiles I see the truth shining in your eyes. You loath me. You pity me and deride me. I embody everything you hate about yourself. From your lofty heights you look upon me with resentment and disdain. In your mind I am unclean and uncouth. Diseased and despairing. Poor and pathetic.

You laugh and jeer at me with your friends, yet when you see my children suffering and crying out, your heart softens for the moment. You feel good about yourself for feeding and clothing me, because God-forbid I continue to shame you with my hungry nakedness. But I wonder to myself, are we so different? Have we lost so much of each other that we now speak two different languages? Where is the link that connects me to you? I am black just as you are. My hair is coarse just as yours is. My skin is black gold and my eyes dark diamonds. My nose is a monument, strong and proud in the center of it all. My lips, forces to be reckoned with. I am just like you and you are just like me. But still they have made you hate me.

They know. They know my secret. They stripped me bare and have been doing all they can to keep me helpless because they know given the potential, I could be greater than they ever hoped or imagined to be. I am an African. Broken down and kept in despair and without hope. Almost unaware of how great I can truly be. But my soul is limitless. It is the soul of the African people. The soul whose ears are bleeding from the cries of the blood of those they stole away from me.