The Story about Black is Power - Essay Example

Running Head: Black is Power Free Writing I come from a backgroung of the blacks. I always hated myself for that. ialways wished I was born white. I blamed God for letting me be born black. Whenever I saw or met a white prson, I admired him. Whiteness was beauty, whiteness was power,it was all I wanted to be. I remember reading books looking for information on why some people were born black and others white. In one book, someone said that when God was moudin people, heforgot some people in the oven and they stayed there for a long time therefore becoming blacks. On realizing that thety were diffent frpm the others,they decide d to move to other unoccupied areas and settled the re. they left the whites. that is why some places have white people and othrres only have blacks. Another story I read was aeplaining why the hand s of the black s are white. it said that as god was mouldin them using clay, he could hang them them neay the fireplace to dry. they supported themselves with their hands. ther was so much smoke which turned all their other body parts black exept their hands because they were not exposed. others said that the blacks were once monkeys and that with time, they evolved and started walking upright. the difference between the blacks and monkeys was the fact that theywalk upright..This really made me sad that God could discriminate. I even refusd to go tochurch. I was always sad. I could not evn look at myself twice in the mirror. on realizing this, my parents felt pity for me. “Black is power!”My father al ways told me. mum could also give me examples of black k people who who who were suiccessfulin life. but my minkd was so much engrossed on how to become whit. I bought skinj lightening creams, sought advice m from friends. I could also bathe many times everyday scrubbing my skin with a tough brush but nothing changed. My performance in school was bad and I thought ; “If I was white”….”maybe my performance would be better” “if I could go to the land of the whites, maybe I could become white, bright and beautiofl. One day, an earthquake came into our land. it killed very many pe ople. I lost almost all my family. My parents died too. Only my brother and I survived. We stayed in a camp for two months. then a white couple who were well wishers came looking for children to adopt. My brother, two sets of twins who were about four years old and I were chosen. We had to relocate to America, The land of the whites! Despite beinjg sad for losing my parents and siblings, I was overjoyed. within a months, all our papers were ready and we set off to my dreamland. By then my brother was in grade three and I was in grade six. Our foster parents, Mr and Mrs White took good care of us, took us to good schools. We had a hard time adopting and the other children and some teachers could not think coming near us. They jeered us because of our colour and everyday, we went home frustrated. Books weer our only companions in school. On realizing this, they hired Mr. Oliver, a pschcologist who has helped us even to this far. he has built self confidence in us. I even stopped wanting to become white. Black is power, and you have it in your hands, Mr Oliver would always tell us. This always reminded me of dad. I became a top performer in our class. I am proud to be black. The Story Black is Power “Black is Power.” My father’s words are still fresh in my ears to this day. “You only need to believe in yourself. Do not allow others to look down upon you just because you are black.” You will always tell when a white person is angry, hungry and even sick. Their skin color tells so much about them. They cannot hide it. But we are different. Our skin color is able to hide our feelings and emotions.” “So many black people have achieved much.” Mother would add. “Look at Bor our freedom fighter, he fought the white people who had snatched our land and chased them away from our land. They left everything behind as they went to their land. Now Bor rules all over this land. People say that when he goes to the land of the white people, they always salute him in respect. You too can.” All these words fell on deaf ears. Having come from a black family, I hated myself so much. To me, being white meant being bright, beautiful and it meant having power. It was all I wanted to be. I believed that being black meant being barbaric, ugly, poor, among other bad things. I could not understand how God could be so unfair. How could he create some people to be so beautiful, so powerful and so bright? All I wanted was to become White. I was always glued to our television, watching and admiring the whites I saw. In school, there was this white child whose parents had come to live in our land. She was very beautiful, her family was rich and she always brought us good things. Even her class performance was not bad compared to most of us blacks. I wished I were her. I sought for explanation from my parents and everywhere else where I could obtain information as to why some people were born white while others black. I could read all sorts of books that attempted to give this explanation. One such book was entitled “The Blacks” and the author explained that God created men using clay. As he molded them, he could place them in the oven to dry but since he was very tired after having created the whites, he forgot to remove them from the oven. They stayed there for a long time and burnt excessively therefore becoming blacks. The book further explained that on realizing that they were different from the others, they decided d to move to other unoccupied areas and settled there to avoid been jeered by the whites. That is why some places have white people and others only have blacks. There was also a story I read entitled “The Hands of the Blacks.”This story explained why the hands of the blacks are white yet their other body parts are black. According to the author, when God was molding the blacks using clay, he could light a fire and hang them near the fireplace to dry. They supported themselves with their hands. The smoke however was too much and it turned all their other body parts black except their palms because they were not exposed. Other writers said that the blacks were once monkeys and that with time; they evolved and started walking upright. They argued that this was the only difference between the blacks and monkeys. These and other stories really made me sad and left no doubt in my mind that God was greatly involved in my being black. I could not understand how and why God could discriminate. and even refused to go to church. I could not even read the Bible that said that God created all people in his own image. “How could this be? God cannot have two complexions at the same time. In addition, he cannot have created himself black. He must be white!” I always told myself. I hated myself and could not even look at myself twice in the mirror. I could bathe several times in a day, scrubbing my skin with a tough brush. I also sought advice from friends and tried to change my complexion by buying skin lightening creams and soaps from the little savings that I could make. I was convinced that I had the ability of doing something that could change my color. However, nothing changed. Instead, things went wrong for me and instead of improving, my face developed complications. I had pimples allover and this made me sad even more. My performance in school became very bad. Instead of reading books that would help me in school, I read beauty magazines with pictures of white people, the cosmetics they used, what they ate, among others. My self-confidence and self-esteem were also very low. However, I still had hopes of becoming white. I vowed to myself that once I become an adult, I would go through plastic surgery. After all, Michael Jackson had successfully gone through it. He was my role model. I had heard stories that he had been born black but managed to transform himself into a white man. I really admired him. One fateful day, there was a great earthquake in our land. This earthquake led to a massive destruction of land and property and millions of people died while others were left desolate. My family was no exception. I lost my two parents and my siblings. In our family, only Jack, my younger brother and I survived. We missed our family very much and no longer had anywhere we could call home. The government built camps and we stayed there for two months. Fortunately, on hearing about the fate that had come into our land, some missionaries who were well-wishers from America came to help. A white couple came looking for children to adopt and my brother, a set of twins who were about four years old and I were chosen. I could not believe my ears when I heard the news. We had to relocate to America, The land of the whites! At last, I would go to the land of the whites and become one of them! Although the situation that brought all these was terrible and led to the loss of my dear parents and siblings, I was so excited. Within two months, all our papers were ready and we set off to my dreamland. By then my brother was in grade three and I was in grade six. Things were very different in America compared to our land. The good roads, buildings, among others fascinated me. Our foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. White took good care of us. They took us to an all-white school where I started seeing things differently. All along, I had thought that white children are the friendliest of all. However, I got a rude shock in my first day of school. My brother and I became a spectacle and the laughing stock of the whole school. Some of the white children who had never seen a black person screamed and ran all over. Some just packed their bags and went home. “We cannot share the same schools with monkeys.” They shouted. I was hurt to think that the whites saw us as some wild animals who they could not tolerate. Some never came back while others came with their parents who demanded an explanation regarding our admission to the school. More shocking was the fact that some of the teachers were not ready to come near us leave alone teaching us. Unfortunately, for them, they could do nothing. America was in the period of change and fighting against discrimination was one of the things that the leaders had purposed to do. Black children could now go to the same schools with white children. We suffered rejection because of our color and everyday, we went home frustrated. Going to school became a nightmare. On realizing this, our foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. White hired Mr. Oliver, a psychologist for us who has helped us even to this far. I was amazed that a white man could accept to be so close to blacks as Mr. Oliver became to us. Something about him always reminded me of my father. He was so accommodating, so caring. He treated us like his own children. To start with, he helped us build our self-confidence and self-esteem. “Without these, nothing can work out for any of you. You must start by accepting yourselves.” He advised us. “Maureen, I want you to help you brother in this. You must be strong both for yourself and your brother.” I want you to take education as a weapon against them. Work hard and become the best. This way, they will accept you, admire you and even want to be associated with you.” I stopped wanting to become white. “Black is power, and you have it in your hands,” this was the hundredth time I was hearing this statement. That Mr. Oliver, a white man, could realize that “Black is power” was amazing. “It must be true. My father also used to tell me so.” I told myself and purposed to work hard and prove my worth. Books became our only faithful companions in school – faithful in that they never frustrated us. By the end of the year, my grades improved tremendously and I was the best performer in our class. I read extensively both in school and at home. I was amazed that in our class, our teacher could ask a question and I was the only person who knew the right answer. At first, I was afraid of raising my hand and saying the answer because I was ashamed of my English. I also did not know what the response of my teachers and fellow students would be like. However, with time I overcame all these and never cared what anyone said as far as I was right. My brother’s progress too was amazing both class and in extra-curricular activities. Sadly, last year, I lost him through a heart attack. That not withstanding, I have learnt so much and I have realized that I am as good as my fellow whites or even better. I am happy the way I am. Precisely said, I am proud to be black. Read More