Jimmy Paxon asked me to be on his show, We had been friends
since he was a young comedian, so now we’d known each other over 10
years.; We had stayed in touch, and when
I told him I was moving to the USA, he asked if I’d come on the show. We had been on several times as a group, but
now I was solo. We decided we’d play a
duet. Him on trumpet, me on piano, and do the Brian May song, ‘Let me Into Your
Heart Again.’ With him on trumpet, it
didn’t pay to sing it, and his house orchestra could fill in.
Of course, there was light banter, first, and he asked me how
I met Amara. I answered, “She’s the
granddaughter of the man who bought my father.”
That’s how the conversation started.
Jimmy responded, laughing, “You mean brought, don’t you?”
I looked at Jimmy, seriously, and responded, “No, bought. Mr. Glazer bought my father off the port in Dar es Salaam. Then
he brought my father to Arusha. You know I am from Tanzania, don’t you?”
Jimmy sort of stared
at me, speechless. My father went on, “ Africa. My father was a slave. In fact, both he and
my mother were trafficked. They were
orphans in India, and they got rounded up and sold as slaves to East
Africa. My father was a houseboy and
learned Glazer’s business, and then he bought my mother about 10 years after he
came to Africa. Same deal. He went to Dar with Glazer, saw my mother standing
there, on the dock. She was a teenager, and he
bought her.”
Jimmy didn’t know how
to respond. I guess th8is was a lot to digest. He sort of hesitated, then he asked,
“What year was this?”
I knew the story. “It was some time at the of World War Two, around 1945, Baba
thought. He didn’t know how old he was.
He was going through puberty, he told
me. He
barely understood English. He spoke Hindi, and Glazer started teaching
him English, but he also learned what he thinks is Yiddish, and he learned
KiSwahili out in the street.”
“Do you know Yiddish?”
Jimmy asked me.
I laughed and said, “No…in fact, I think besides mishegas,
the only other Yiddish I know is ‘shtup.’”
The audience laughed at this, because those words vaguely
translate into ‘bullshit’ and ‘fuck’.
So Jimmy Paxon was trying to formulate a question, and didn’t
know where to go with it, and my I said, “You see, lots of Europeans didn’t want black Africans to be houseboys
because they weren’t really used to
doing physical labor, certainly not used to doing cooking or laundry, the main tasks. The women did that. But the women were kept on a ‘short leash’,
to use an expression. The men wanted wages,
but they didn’t want to be disrespected or
subjected to the racism and
insanity of the Europeans, so they’d go back to their homes when they’d had
enough. They’d run away, as the
Europeans characterized it. Sometimes,
they’d steal household goods, too. So,
whomever could afford it wanted an
Indian worker, because they couldn’t run off. Where were they going to go? Back
across the ocean? To what? Most were
orphans. After they bought out their
contracts, and the Europeans gave them the opportunity to do so, most started
some sort of business. Many were
Moslems, and they got absorbed into that community, but my parents both knew
they were mixed caste and religion, so they
identified as Sikh. So my father was with the Glazers about 10
years, and he knew that Glazer’s son didn’t want to stay in Africa. He was being educated in England. Anyone with
means sent their children back to Europe or America for education. So…my father asked to learn the business. Then he wanted to marry, and because of his
social status knew it might be difficult.
He considered marrying an African girl, but he needed bride price in
cattle, so it was easier to go buy a girl.
My Ama was as young as he had been, so the Glazers convinced him to
actually wait until she was more mature, because if she got pregnant too young
she might die or become barren, and he’d lose his investment. So, he did wait,
and taught her the household tasks, and Mrs. Glazer also taught her a lot. When the grandparents felt it was time to retire, their eldest son
didn’t want to live in Africa. He found there was a community of South African
Jews in Chicago, where he went to college, and he also met Amara’s mother. They’d
return every other summer for a few weeks, to Arusha, and a his daughters got older, he brought
them. Amara knew me before I had a
beard.”
“Interesting,” Paxon responded. You have older brothers, though. How is it…”
I laughed, and replied, “How is it neither of my
brothers got Amara? I am not sure. I
think either they were afraid of her, or knew my parents would raise holy hell,
but I didn’t think of that. When I started going through puberty and the family
came to visit, I decided I wanted her, and took advantage of an opportunity.”
The audience started laughing, and Paxon sort of laughed in
embarrassment.
I went on, “I really
loved her, but she told me my parents would not allow it. I had to finish my
studies. She went back to America. She discouraged me because she knew my
parents would be unhappy. So, I met
Sita, decided she’d be a good wife, and it lasted 10 years. But both of us were
unhappy, so I decided to divorce and find Amara. I can’t tell you how happy we are. She completes me, She really does.”
The audience applauded.
Jimmy, though, was still curious about slavery.
“So, in Africa, is there still slavery?” he asked.
I looked at him,
sighed, and then said, “You know, you
Americans. You think at the end of your
civil war, that was the end of slavery. Yes,
of course. Probably not many are brought from other continents, but there is slavery. Some people are born into it. In fact, humans are still trafficked all over. From Russia, Ukraine, Cambodia,
Bangladesh. Mostly women. They are lied
to, told they’d get good wages. Then ,
their passports taken away. Some are brought by diplomats or other
elites. I’m sure there are slaves in the
USA. I mean, why would you have to import a house keeper? Right? But really, you guys, you allow your politicians to give aid to countries that ignore human rights. Your congress people
vote on aid packages, and not only don’t ask for an accounting, but don’t tie aid
to government transparency and respect
for rule of law! You give aid to
Tanzania, my country of birth. Granted,
we’ve always had high literacy, but for what? An economy that can’t absorb us,
so we have to leave—-become essentially, economic refugees, which is why I
live in Switzerland half the year. Look
at the social indicators for all the countries you give aid to. Infant and maternal mortality remain high, communications infrastructure is
lacking. Were it not for the Malaysians, most people in Africa wouldn’t
have telephones. Women don’t have access
to education or family planning services. You all think you are giving
humanitarian aid. Granted, you do, when
there is some sort of natural disaster, but mostly you m give military aid, and
the corrupt leaders use it to terrorize
their own people. “
I was on a roll. I went on, after taking a breath, “I work
here. I pay taxes here. In your country. Many of us foreign nationals do, and
you’ve elected leaders who demonize us foreigners, yet they are ripping you
off. My gosh, they tell you that you
can’t have single payer health services,
your ‘Medicare’, for all, but they
take that money & give weapons to dictators. Wake up.
You don’t have to futz around for
an envelope and a stamp. Email them and tell them you know they do this! Quit paying attention to lobbyists and public relations people who
tell you what to put into foreign
aid appropriations budgets, and. take care of Americans first. And quit saying foreigners are not contributing to your tax
base! Start supporting groups that
address human trafficking!”
I got rousing applause, and then I said to Jimmy, “Are you sorry you asked? Really,
if people want to help the less fortunate in our poor countries, you can be better environmental stewards, recycle and
plant trees and address your carbon footprints. Quit
supporting organizations that withhold family planning services. Don’t
support missionaries. We Africans
already know what Christianity is! Support Peace Corps. Were it not for
them, I would be a servant in Africa, not an engineer. In fact, come visit us. See how we actually live. For most Africans, the big issue is fresh
water. “ I was so worked up. I hadn’t realized that he didn’t know. There
was a lot of applause and of course they went to a commercial, which gave us a
little time to recover.
Jimmy said to me, “That was great! Are you ready?”
I nodded, but looked to Amara. She was in the front row, and
she was smiling. I always wanted her there.
I walked over to her and started to kneel, but she stood up and hugged
me. I whispered to her, “What did I do?”
She whispered back, “You were great. You said what needed to
be said, It’s true. Americans have no idea.”
I took her hand and said, “Sit next to me on the bench while
we do this. You give me strength.”
I was shocked went it went viral on the internet.
Well, when I got back from New York, and went to
my office, both my email folder and voice mail at school were full. I called Amara and asked her if she had time
to help me sort through all the messages, because I wanted every one addressed.
I had my office secretary change my outgoing voice mail message until I got everything cleared up. Amara and I formulated a response to all who emailed
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