The Idiot Box

Not too long ago I went to visit a younger colleague. We have not talked or seen each other since before the pandemic. She fixed us some tea in her kitchen that was bigger than my whole apartment and when she had run out of niceties to say, she suggested we go into her family room to chill after she gave me the grand tour of her half-million dollar home. She quickly grabbed the remote to her 72-inch TV and switched to YouTube from her steamy reality show.

She typed in “Africa” and said she wanted to find something I would be comfortable watching. She then scanned through the titles until she found a white man with a British accent, telling us how he was the only person that had received permission from the leader of the most notoriously dangerous unit of the Boko Haram. (FYI… Boko Haram is an Islamist militant group that name means “Western education is forbidden”) As we watched I could see that my colleague was very much intrigued, but with a tinge of fear, she turned to me and asked,

“Have you been there and who did you interview…since you’re a journalist and all. Do have any pictures?”

Awkward and offended I looked at her as she sunk into the sofa with embarrassment. Although she spent the next 15 minutes stating her case with video after video, Google and Twitter of the many reasons why I was insane for going to Africa. She regurgitated as if memorized, her African Studies 301 professor’s unchallenged account of her senior summer missionary trip (by the way…that’s how she got the job as head of the African History department at her Ivy League university.) It was clear as mud to me and her reason why she would never set a foot in Africa. But she insisted I state my reason why I would go to such a disease-infested poor and dangerous place.

🌍

From the moment I placed my Puma’s on the tarmac of the city (Accra in Ghana West Africa) that started the largest African American lineage hunt, I knew why. As I narrated through the 3000+ pictures and videos I had experienced on my 18-month journey I learned who I was and where I had come from. There was nothing that a YouTube or BBC documentary could have prepared me for.

I was invited to sit and talk with Kings and Chiefs. Numerous families voluntarily cooked for me as they shared their lives and lineage stories. I was taken to places that only dignitaries have privy to and they made me a part of their family. Some were poor and gave me their last meal and some picked me up in their private jet and landed on their airstrip and owner of a thousand acres resource-rich land.

In Africa I saw wealthy and wanting on the same street. It was no different than our Bankhead and Buckhead in Atlanta that is still only separated by an attitude. What was the Crips and Bloods for the US in the 80’s and 90’s is now the Boko Haram for Africa today. Decades and real estate don’t change the definition of ignorance. Only a hard reset away from a deliberate and cultivated mindset can change us.

In Africa the friends I made are honest, genuine and most of all, they are willing to learn about the African American journey from 1863 till now. They’ve been taught that since our “savior” - Martin Luther King Jr. was taken we were given another - President Obama, and now we “have arrived “. Sadly Africans are still being taught through social media that their savior will “soon come” but they must give without question, appeasement gifts of gold, diamonds and oil to their “saviors representative”, who is the US, China and the UK.

(And back to the quote by Emillia Clarke)

When I arrived, my colleague had proudly given me a tour of their home. Five bedrooms, two family rooms, a pool and her and husband’s office were overlooking a lake stocked with non-GMO trout. Each room was designer-decked, modern and the envy of her family and friends. I did notice tucked away in her 18-month old daughter’s room was bookcase of a few children’s books. I pulled a couple of books to scan. The usual- Dr. Seuss, Mickey Mouse and a hard cover of Aesops Fables.

“I remembered how you love to read so Bob and I thought so you can spend more time with us we’d build a library just for you in the basement. We’ve ordered over a thousand books we know you’ll like, especially the best authorities on Africa. I can’t wait to see your face when we’re finished!”

I stared at my colleague in disbelief. She went on to poke fun at herself that she had not read a single book other than the required reading in college. Not even a magazine article in the unread monthly subscriptions in the bathroom reading racks and coffee tables. They just didn’t have time while running three companies. She believed that she could get everything she needed to know in Google, YouTube and Twitter. “And besides, reading was so antiquated.”

I want you to know that it was nice to see my colleague. But equally depressing to know that something that was so fundamentally impressed on my generation as the only thing more important than family was being able to read the “fine print” was replaced by a digital 30-sec marketing mirage that rotates based on “likes and clicks” and not on facts or truth.

I’m a photojournalist so I believe in researching the story behind the picture and giving my readers the truth no matter the ending that may or may not get a million views. I read equally as much as I write so that my opinions are not skewed or one-sided.

The end of the story….

As we came back in the family room, the baby was now awake so my colleague placed her in her high chair and went to get her lunch from the fridge that was already prepped by Bob in a cute little Bento Box. The TV’s sound was blaring from when we left for my tour. She realized and muted the TV.

“Oh I make sure the baby doesn’t become a couch potato. I’m teaching him to read. I mute the sound and turn on the closed-captions during our bonding time. Don’t you think that’s the best modern mommy skill you’ve ever seen?”

I took a deep breath and decided there would be no part two to this story.

THE END.