Yes, this is my chance to speak. Thank you! No one ever had the patience to interview me before. Your courage is inspirational. What is the purpose of travel if you’re not welcomed with open arms? I don’t want to be a burden. We can write the future together. As for the tear-stained past, we can only learn from it if we keep ourselves at a distance - suffering does something to your soul. It refines and polishes; it distorts and colors.
I can’t describe this as the black experience, but it was my experience. There is poetry in finding your purpose. Today, I’m breaking my silence. If you see me as black, that says more about you than me. Am I a person of color, a negro? I am only now bold enough to approach the subject of race. It’s a performance in the theater of human history. If people of color could see my worth, I wouldn’t be denigrated by the white establishment. There is no place for my pain on the library shelves of black academics, so I’m estranged, alienated, relegated to the bottom of the ocean. I am in search of freedom and wholeness.
Let me begin by pointing you to my former, unjust imprisonment. Rotting corpses lined the floors. The few of us with breath sat in a detention center that wreaked of sewage. We lived in filthy conditions with putrid waste rising ankle-high. It was utter squalor. No furniture in a room without windows, without electricity - we made the space our home for months. It was a wonder I did not suffocate from the cramped confinement. We ate rice once a day and drank sips of water on occasion.
I did not want to leave the country of my birth, but I was looking for work. I had no choice. I am not a criminal. Seeking a livelihood is not a crime. Poverty is all I’ve known. My skin is brown. This is the reason I was put behind bars as persona non grata. I want to add value. I would cook or clean, but no one will give me even a meager opportunity. The world sees me as a slave. I have witnessed horror and injustice, public executions and terror, but I am counted among the dead, among the illiterate, among the illegal, among the unworthy of love. My story is hidden and so is the solution.
Life is precious. When I was released, they placed me on a plane headed back to the land of my ancestors. Surely, they cry out for me. In an era of self and solitude, I want you to know the truth. God is sovereign. God is wise. If you see yourself in my story, you are looking with your heart, not your eyes.
I sell trinkets to tourists. It’s a modest living. Can I interest you in a necklace, a key chain or a refrigerator magnet? Here, you’re just visiting. May Allah make easy your journey and put barakah in it. As the Prophet, peace be upon him, said, “We are all travelers.”
I hope to see you in the Hereafter.
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