Looks can be deceiving and they often are. But one can never know
what is until one makes an effort to lift the veils of mystery and then
peer within the shadows. Looks can hide great unpleasantness, like that
within the proverbial Pandora’s Box. But, on the other hand, they can
be like gifts which were wrapped in luminescent coloured paper under
a Christmas tree which later revealed very pleasant surprises. Such was
the case on my walk this morning on the eve of the New Year – 2025.
It has been my practice to traverse mine and other neighbourhoods
nearby, for many hours and many miles, often with my point-and-shoot
camera slung around my neck. I have met people of different races, and
ethnic backgrounds. Most times the words exchanged between us were
limited to “Hello” and “Goodbye”, or translated into the waving of the
hands in greeting, which is a part of the universal sign language of
civility and of common humanity. And there were times when such
words germinated and then bloomed into pleasant and meaningful
conversation. Such was my chance encounter with a fellow named,
Bob.
I have seen Bob for many years, often passing through his
neighbourhood on my exercise route. Caucasian in appearance, white
hair, medium build, perhaps five foot eight or nine, and a senior citizen.
I am terrible with discerning age, but he appeared healthy and
physically active, always working on an automobile project in his garage
and driveway. We had come to know each other without really
knowing each other over the years, but today was different. He stepped
away from a project, with a small screwdriver still in his hand, to greet
me warmly and to wish me well for the coming New Year. I stopped in
the road, as he expressed his concerns about the current state of affairs
in the country, concerns which I realized were similar to those which I
had.
I received a day off from my job. I woke up feeling burdened about
what was happening in the country and the world, about issues at
work, and about a legal matter which I have pending in Jamaica which
comes up for trial in mid to late January. God was on my mind and
thoughts about His involvement in my life and in the world – as is often
the case – flooded my mind. But the dour salience of those thoughts
were lightened, somewhat, by songs of praise which I quietly hummed
to myself. The weight of the world seemed to lift, but, not completely. I
had taken a few nature photographs – but the weight of life was still
there, until I met Bob. I gave him my name and he gave me his.
As we talked about current affairs I noticed that he spoke with an
accent. My first thought was that he was Hispanic, until he told me,
unsolicited, that he was born in Mombasa, in the east African country
of Kenya. I was, pleasantly, floored by that disclosure. He grew up poor
with his parents, he said, going to the river to collect water for the
family cooking and other domestic uses, and he and his family ate left
over rice that was cooked the day before when nothing else was there
to eat. They were, nonetheless, happy.
He and his siblings would walk to school, which was a few miles away,
in slippers every day. His mother, originally, was from Portugal. He had
gone to school and became an engineer. He went to sea and obtained
his qualifications as a ship’s captain. He came to the United States,
became a resident – almost joining the navy and the air force. (I have
left out many details). He then worked for 30 years as an air traffic
controller in Miami.
By this time, my mouth had joined the soles of my feet on the asphalt,
as he continued to take me down this lane and then that of his personal
history. He was there when Jomo Kenyatta became that country’s first
prime minister between 1963 and 1964, after independence from Great
Britain, before he became its first president, serving from 1964 until his
death in 1978. Bob regarded him as a great leader. He has not been
back to Kenya on a visit since the mid-1980s. I did not ask, although I
felt free enough to do so, how Bob felt about the U.S. president-elect’s
derogatory comments, which he had made during his first term in
office, about African countries. But I was so caught up with Bob’s story,
including his mentioning the fact that the country was rich in 37
valuable minerals, if my memory serves me correctly, and how he was
fluent in English, Spanish, French and Swahili.
As I pen these words, just a few hours after my encounter with Bob, I
thought about Malcolm X’s travel to Mecca, and about how that had a
tremendous impact on altering his views on white people from other
countries, especially those who shared his religious faith, as against
white people living in the United States and his experiences with them.
He was able to look beyond their white skins, blond hair, and blue eyes
and realize that white American racism was more a mentality than skin
colour as he had received greater hospitality from white people
oversees than in the country of his birth.
Bob could easily pass as a white American, but his attitude towards me
revealed something different. Now, do not get me wrong, there are
good white folks in this country – people who are not overtly racist – but
I have met some with smatterings of condescension which were shown
to me, despite me being older than they were and with me being as
qualified as they were. Was such hubris due, simply, to innate
narcissism or to inbred racism, whether they realized it or not?
My conversation ended with Bob, and I was soon on my way. The
encounter was as a much-needed shot in my arm, especially on New
Year’s Eve – on the cusp of an era of great uncertainty. Whatever awaits
me after the ball drops later on tonight – I am grateful to The Almighty
that I found another decent human being – an ally who can help me and
others, even with thoughtful words of kindness from time to time, to
get through the much-anticipated difficult times. Bob understood more
than many people who were born in this country the value of a
democratic society and what is needed for such a society to survive and
to thrive.
After arriving home, I picked up and I resumed reading a copy of Dr.
W.E.B. Du Bois’ book, The World And Africa – An Inquiry Into The Part
Which Africa Has Played In The World, and read the following words
which I will use to close this reminiscence:
“Reader of dead words who would live deeds, this is the flowering of my
Logic: I dream of a world of infinite and invaluable variety; not in the
laws of gravity or atomic weights, but in human variety in height and
weight, colour and skin, hair and nose and lip. But more especially and
far above and beyond this, in a realm of true freedom: in thought and
dream, fantasy and imagination; in gift, aptitude, and genius-all
possible manner of difference, topped with freedom of soul to do and
be, and freedom of thought to give to a world and build into it, all
wealth of inborn individuality.”
