The TALK

Two weeks ago one of my student soldiers told me that a black teenager carrying only a packet of Skittles his hand had been shot dead by a white male who thought he was suspicious.

Right there, I told the young man the following:

“If you look closer, you’ll find that this adolescent is from a middle class family. It wouldn’t even dawn on him that he was doing something wrong walking in his own neighborhood. A lower class black kid knows better and wouldn’t do that, unless he’s up to no good.”

I suddenly felt a punch in the gut. The naïve kid I was talking about represented my own sons, and also the soldier in front of me. He was born and raised in the US from African parents, academics. Just like this soldier at some point in his life and most middle and upper class black boys throughout the country, my sons are growing up, moving comfortably in their environment and interacting with their friends and neighbors, oblivious of yet another insidious danger to their well-being.

I felt guilty. Throughout their lives, my children have heard their father and I parrot motivational speeches to success, blistering criticisms – of course laced with love – and veiled warnings about lurking predators. “Never play at Johnny’s house when he’s not there,” I’d often say when I really meant “beware of Johnny’s dad, even if he’s Johnny’s dad. Who knows if he is a dirty mind?” But I didn’t realize that our children and us, never had what a black mother on NPR today called “The Talk,” a conversation African-American parents have been having with their sons since way back, to warn them of the dangers of being black men in America.

 

Like this soldier’s parents, having been born and raised elsewhere in the world made me either oblivious or dismissive of certain undeniable realities. I was going to have the talk with my sons, to begin with, with my seventeen year old, exactly Trayvon Martin’s age. I decided to handwrite him a letter first, in case I trip over my word during the conversation and lose some of the crucial words streaming through my brain right this moment. 

Read letter next...

Kidnapping the bride

At dawn, Thursday morning four of Mariama's mates enter her family home. It's still early and everyone is whispering so not the awaken the rest of the household. Furthermore, this was a secret mission and it was important for all involved to take the utmost care not to be discovered, at least until close to the of the day.

Mariama was already dressed and waiting in her mother's room. She wore a beautiful new wax print skirt set sewn by the tailor around the corner and a pair of plastic sandals. Her mother ushered her to the steps and with tears in her eyes she watched as the group of young ladies walked away shrouded in the early morning fog. One of the girls handed Mariama a red flower-patterned scarf to cover her head and shoulders and shield her identity. With felted but determined steps, they walked back to the street towards a destination up to that moment, unknown to Mariama. They were headed to a house owned by one of her companions' aunts. The companion's name was Ami. Brandishing a cellular phone, she explained that she'd called her aunt on her cell phone the night before and obtained the green light to hide the bride at her house.

Ami was a leader and that was always obvious to anyone who met her in a group of her peers. Like Mariama, she was 16 but shrewd beyond her years. She had never set foot in a classroom, didn't A from B that didn't seem to be an obstacle for her. She had her feet planted in traditions but her head swarmed with sounds and colors similar to the ones poking every western teenager's brain. In addition to a cell phone, she carried a "made in China" iPod full of western music and stars. One would expect her to be a trouble maker but she wasn't. She had about her something foreign to this place.
"I know what I want in life, you don't. I do things on my own terms," she'd often say, laughing at her friends.

The girls walked twenty five minutes and finally sneaked into a small beautiful villa on the outskirts of town. Ami's aunt was waiting for them.

To be continued...