This may be
an uncomfortable subject for some people, but I would like to talk about
racism and slavery.
Traveling through
Africa and speaking to Africans, has given me some food for thought that I
would be remiss if I did not share.
By no means,
do I claim to understand, or do I believe I can truly ever understand the depth
or complexity of slavery. But I have initiated conversations with whites and
blacks during my travels and found both very open to speak on the subject.
First, I
would like to start out my blog recounting an experience I had in Lesotho, a
small country within South Africa. When touring
a makeshift museum, a young African woman, maybe twenty, volunteered to be our
tour guide. She was one of the sweetest people we met. During our conversation
she referred to us as being with the American tribe. Roy and I looked at
each other and smiled “tribe”? I thought about it, and we do fit the definition
of a tribe. Any aggregate of people
united by ties community of customs and traditions, adherence to the same
leaders, etc. So, if we are a tribe, then maybe we aren’t
that different from other tribes in all parts of the world?
Roy and I also
observed a rather enlightening exchange one night sitting around a campfire in
a bush camp. The conversation was between a Tembe tribesman and a rather crusty
white South African. I actually prompted the conversation by asking about the
Indians from India that I was told were enslaved and brought to Africa by the
missionaries to cut cane.
As if we
weren’t there, the two of them went into relaying to each other racial jokes
about the Indians. In fact, one even recalled a bumper sticker saying, “we
should have cut our own cane”. These two men were actually united in the racism
of Indians. It was surreal for us to witness this.
Then there
was the hotel clerk in a small town that when asked his name said, “My name is Mohwanado
but my slave name is Mike”. Stunned, I said “your slave name”?? He said, “Yes,
we are required to have a slave name in Africa”. I said, “REQUIRED”! He explained that the people here can’t
pronounce the tribal names so he has to pick a name they can say. In this day
and age??? I was appalled! To me my name and my family name are so important
and makes up not only my identity but the very core of who I am. The young man
was shocked at my disbelief that the government required such a thing. I asked
him to write down his real name and then I promised to use it when referring to
him during my stay. He smiled proudly.
I went to my
room that night and had trouble sleeping thinking about my conversation with
this nice young man. I know when my family and many families came to America
our names were altered either accidentally or for the ease of the person
admitting them in. I also know that the Native Indians had tribal names and
although many white men did not use those names, they did use their meanings Big
Foot, Little Bear etc.
The young
man told me is first name meant warrior and his last name meant kingdom. I
understood why Jack or Mike, or Bob was easier but not better. Further, I have
to say that the Dutch influence here has resulted in the naming of many many
places and things and their words are unbelievably complex. So, I don’t get it.
Is this practice racism or just laziness? Or BOTH!
Today, every
black African I met and many white ones to were very excited about the election
of President Obama. Clearly, he has given them hope for the future. I will also tell
you that although my opinions on government differ from our President, I was very
proud to be his good will ambassador everywhere I went.
I was also a
little surprised, that in my travels, I did not get a sense of any animosity
regarding America’s history of slavery. Maybe because they the Africans still residing in Africa, were the ones left behind
and many other things like Apartheid have left deep personal wounds more
recently.
So, I don’t
know what all this means today or even for the future. Understandably, the wounds
of American slavery do not seem to be as deep from the people who were taken
from as from those taken. Perhaps it is
because the people taken from this beautiful place called Africa will never
know if they were plucked from their destiny or sent to fulfill it.
All I know
is there is something magical about this place that I wish like their name, I
could give back to them.
