The Second Slavery Ship
By
Hakeem Babalola The
boat came ashore. It was a huge boat, and enough to
contain a billion people. The lettering still reads SSS.
My brother, sister, and I struggled to embark, thinking
Success Story Ship. I still do not know how we
misinterpreted the inscription on that scorching day.
But I remember that many people had struggled to board
that big boat. I still remember how certain parents
abused and flogged their unwilling kids. They must enter
the Success Story Ship. They must go learn the white man
magic – to enslave their peers and, or the unfortunate
ones.
It
was like yesterday. I remember a man and a woman wearing
white uniforms. They are not as white as the uniform,
but everyone called them white. It was not until I
managed to enter onto the ship that I took a closer
look. The woman is closer to red, while the man is more
of pink. I was confused. My English and history teacher
always referred to people of this kind as white. They
have taught me that people of my kind are black, and
that white is the opposite of black. I took a second
look at my sister. She is not black. I have seen a very
hard, heavy, dark-coloured wood before. My sister is
ebony.
It
was the woman who smiled at me. My stomach rumbled and
fear came onto me. It was as if she knew my thought. At
this point I wanted to tell her that her colour was red
and not white, but I dismissed the thought, for she
might refuse to ship me to their land. If that had
happened, my father would have killed me. My father
would have rebuked me saying, “Curiosity kills the cat”.
I had seen how much respect my father had for these
people. As a kid, I grew up knowing that people like
this woman are superior. Like my forefathers, my own
father worships white man.
I
did not smile back. I was just occupied with the reasons
behind my teachers calling her white, and why they
insist I am the opposite of her; why my father holds her
in high esteem; why my father had said he would kill me
if I couldn’t make it to the white woman land. It pained
me that I have to listen to my father’s voice. “White
man is superior.”
The
woman came nearer. She flashed another smile. It was
radiant but my quick glance detected something
suspicious. Her uniform even attracted me more than
herself. I did not look up even when she tapped me on my
shoulder.
"Young man," she said. "What's on your mind?"
My
heart leapt. "Nothing," I lied.
I
must have disappointed my father, for he had told me
several times never to show my emotion, especially to
the "white man".
"You must have been thinking about the journey…"
For
the first time I looked at her penetrating eyes. It was
like that of my grandmother's dark cat. And so she
began:
"This is SSS. We have brought it for a purpose. It is a
long time project, and it's all over this continent. We
know that you're intelligent people. We know that given
the chance you people would become world power. But that
would be over the white man's dead body. Your continent
shall remain a dumping ground quite a while. And I am
not talking about half a century. Much longer! This is
how it has been planned. Forget about debt cancellation,
poverty eradication in Africa, AIDS for Africa. These
are all slavery slogans. And we know it.
"The only way out for you people is to reject white
man's system. As long as you follow him, be sure you
will never beat him in his own game. You have to develop
your own unique line of thought – quite different from
ours. Some deep thinkers among you have proposed this
line of thought but are being rebuked as lunatics.
Anyway, we won’t let you discover yourselves. We would
confuse you the more because it is a do or die
affair…Your only hope is revolution but we would prevent
that at all cost.
"This ship is a metaphor of our message. We had thought
we would use force to recruit young men and women but
see, you all aboard voluntarily. I am sure that the
brightest among you are on this ship, meaning the future
of your continent is in our palm. My colleagues and I
were actually dumbfounded to see many of you being caned
by your parents for a place on this ship. But young man,
there's a possibility to turn this journey into another
SSS (Success Story Ship). However, you must be ready to
do more than just follow...follow like your so-called
leaders.
"We
are actually making a research about the thinking
faculty of leaders in Africa. We are curious about their
instinct to kill the best to grow. For example, we would
like to know why any reasonable government would allow
its future to be easily taken away as it is happening on
this very ship. We really want to know why they must
kneel before the White House in order to feel important.
In fact we want to know whether leaders in Africa do
think or not. When are they going to realise that we
don’t respect beggar, but your leaders are professional
beggars; we don’t respect moron, but your leaders are
close to being morons…"
Two
things had struck me about this woman: her candid
double-talk and her ability to read my mind. A gift I
would later know as the science of mental life. My
grandmother had been good at it, too. I remember people
always troop to our house in order to benefit from her
wise counsel. Her prediction was always accurate. And
then one day, the same people stoned her to death.
“You’re a witch,” they shouted.
The
woman's harangue was the vehicle by which I rode to my
own thought. As we continued the voyage in which I have
already lost many of my brothers and sisters (some swept
away by water, some died of hunger, some committed
suicide, some executed), I began to torture myself. Why
did they murder my grandmother for being an oracle who
was benevolent to her society? Who killed Fela
Anikulapo-Kuti? What killed Bob Marley? What prevents
African intellectuals like Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka,
Ali Mazrui, Niyi Osundare, etc., from living permanently
in their continent? Why do African rulers siphon money
and/or prefer to die in white woman land? Is it because
they have – at one time or another – boarded the Second
Slavery Ship?
Happy Birthday to Bob Marley @
February 2007 mysmallvoice@yahoo.com
posted 18 February 2007
* *
* * *
Escape from Slavery: The True Story
(Francis Bok) /
Slave: My True Story (Mende Nazer)
Alek: My Life from Sudanese Refugee to
International Supermodel
(Alek Wek)
* * * * *
 |
Salvage the Bones
A Novel by Jesmyn Ward
On one level, Salvage the Bones is a simple story about a poor black family that’s about to be trashed by one of the most deadly hurricanes in U.S. history. What makes the novel so powerful, though, is the way Ward winds private passions with that menace gathering force out in the Gulf of Mexico. Without a hint of pretension, in the simple lives of these poor people living among chickens and abandoned cars, she evokes the tenacious love and desperation of classical tragedy. The force that pushes back against Katrina’s inexorable winds is the voice of Ward’s narrator, a 14-year-old girl named Esch, the only daughter among four siblings. Precocious, passionate and sensitive, she speaks almost entirely in phrases soaked in her family’s raw land. Everything here is gritty, loamy and alive, as though the very soil were animated. Her brother’s “blood smells like wet hot earth after summer rain. . . . His scalp looks like fresh turned dirt.” Her father’s hands “are like gravel,” while her own hand “slides through his grip like a wet fish,” and a handsome boy’s “muscles jabbered like chickens.” Admittedly, Ward can push so hard on this simile-obsessed style that her paragraphs risk sounding like a compost heap, but this isn’t usually just metaphor for metaphor’s sake. She conveys something fundamental about Esch’s fluid state of mind: her figurative sense of the world in which all things correspond and connect. She and her brothers live in a ramshackle house steeped in grief since their mother died giving birth to her last child. . . . What remains, what’s salvaged, is something indomitable in these tough siblings, the strength of their love, the permanence of their devotion.— WashingtonPost
|
* * * * *
|
The New Jim Crow
Mass Incarceration in the Age of
Colorblindness
By Michele Alexander
Contrary to the
rosy picture of race embodied in Barack
Obama's political success and Oprah
Winfrey's financial success, legal
scholar Alexander argues vigorously and
persuasively that [w]e have not ended
racial caste in America; we have merely
redesigned it. Jim Crow and legal racial
segregation has been replaced by mass
incarceration as a system of social
control (More African Americans are
under correctional control today... than
were enslaved in 1850). Alexander
reviews American racial history from the
colonies to the Clinton administration,
delineating its transformation into the
war on drugs. She offers an acute
analysis of the effect of this mass
incarceration upon former inmates who
will be discriminated against, legally,
for the rest of their lives, denied
employment, housing, education, and
public benefits. Most provocatively, she
reveals how both the move toward
colorblindness and affirmative action
may blur our vision of injustice: most
Americans know and don't know the truth
about mass incarceration—but her
carefully researched, deeply engaging,
and thoroughly readable book should
change that.—Publishers
Weekly |
 |
* * * * *
The White Masters
of the World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
* * *
* *
Ancient African Nations
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Negro Digest / Black World
Browse all issues
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Enjoy!
* * *
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The
Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
* * * *
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding
of Haiti
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