Thanks to GOTV… there being no Citizen
TV, I decided to catch a movie during one cold evening. A young family, living
in a small town, had decided to visit their maternal grandmother in Birmingham.
The family had never been to Birmingham and the children were exited to finally
see their mother’s hometown. Mum was, however, not eager to go to her home
town. Had things changed? Was this place secure for her family? There being reports
of protests in the small town, was it really a good idea to expose her
children? These were the questions that run through the young mother’s mind. Despite
the excitement, the family had an eleven hours long journey to travel.
Birmingham was not any small a town.
It was the centre of racism. Identity was equated to the color of one’s skin.
The racial victimization was rampant in schools, churches, movie theaters, and other
places of gathering. Clear boundaries were set, boundaries between blacks and
whites, boundaries marked with color…skin color to be precise. The Watsons
were not spared from this madness! Gaining access to a high-end restaurant was
a nightmare; after all, posh things were meant for the whites while the less
attractive things were left for the blacks. One would question this, but
doesn’t black represent evil, bad, backward, darkness, and primitivism? The
Watsons faced it rough for a mistake not of their own…they could not enter
movie theaters, they were black. A classic example that not all consequences
are as a result of the choices made!
The nightmares had just begun
tormenting what was supposed to be an enjoyable visit to Birmingham by the
Watsons. A young Watson had gone to a nearby church for the Sunday school Bible
study session. She had left behind the remaining Watsons as they listened to
grandma’s stories. Suddenly, the news spread like a bush fire despite the fact
that people talked in hushed tones. Some rejoiced, they were happy, but in the
midst of this confusion, were the Watsons. The news hit them hard like a
snowball, they could not bear it, and they could not believe it. The church had
been razed down by a fierce fire lit by some villains. They crossed their
fingers; some thumped their chests as they frantically made signs of the cross
on their foreheads.
Who could have been so cruel to burn down young innocent children? Did the young souls even have an idea that there was a beast called racial segregation? Tens of angelic souls were lost to the blazing fumes, not to mention the lives of parents, guardians, and good Samaritans who had rushed to the scene to save their children. Thank goodness! Young Watson had survived the ugly incident, he had escaped by a whisker, the short-call relief had saved his young soul, but he lived to tell the story, of soldiers… white soldiers who torched the church.
Who could have been so cruel to burn down young innocent children? Did the young souls even have an idea that there was a beast called racial segregation? Tens of angelic souls were lost to the blazing fumes, not to mention the lives of parents, guardians, and good Samaritans who had rushed to the scene to save their children. Thank goodness! Young Watson had survived the ugly incident, he had escaped by a whisker, the short-call relief had saved his young soul, but he lived to tell the story, of soldiers… white soldiers who torched the church.
My heart froze, it shed tears before
they could reach the eyes, they were too much for it to contain. It dawned on me, then, that racism and
tribalism knew not age, gender, profession, and social standing. The color of
our skin is not a choice but a chance, the language we speak is socialization.
A message to my fellow countrymen,
‘we never miss the waters until the river runs dry.’ Hate poisons the soul,
tribe is all in the mind, and culture is a lifestyle. My brothers, “PEACE!”
By. Sarah Makena,
Co-founder Ukabila ZI
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