Chapter Seven

As I wake for the next time, I’m lying on some soft ground. I open my eyes and find myself in a light room. My waist is stripped so somebody has apparently pulled of my shirt. Some strange thick peace of cloth lies on my body. My eyes wander trough the room. The walls are painted in a light green. There are many objects that I do not know. I need to cough. A few seconds later, somebody knocks on the door and is in after seconds.
“So you are awake now?” The voice which I already remember from the last time says.
“You really need to drink something. Have a try to come up, I’ll help ya.” I do as he tells me. The boy leads a small bin of glass to my mouth. I drink timidly, my throat hurts.
“I also brought some bread. Soon you should have a try to eat a bit.”
“Why are you doing all that for me?”
“You are one of us! Martin Luther King told us to stand as one and to help each other!”
“You know that Mr. King?” I sink back to ground.
“Of course! Everybody knows him here. He is the most mentioned topic in the streets. Even the Whites are talking about him. He makes them angry. Did ya also hear about him in Africa?”
“My brother Rashid named him sometimes”. The sound of his name cords up my throat.
“He came with you?”
“He should. But I saw him in the port of Kapstadt for the last time.” As the boy sees my sad face he says:
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” A deep silence falls.
“Are you hungry?” I shrug. The boy hands me a piece of bread.
“Sorry. What did you say was your name?”
“Nabil.” He outstretches his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”

I’m already able to leave that thing called “bed” now. Nabil says that I’m at his house since three weeks now. I feel better everyday. This house seems like paradise to me. Nabil says that they are not very rich but I cannot see what he means. I got to know his family; his mother and his two sisters. His father also died when Nabil was a child. Nabil’s mother Halina is great. She really cares about me and already treats me like a son.
“I hope you will soon be able to leave the house,” she said this morning.
“Of course you will,” added Nabil.
“In a few days Martin Luther King will come to Washington. Incredible, to WASHINGTON!”

It is August 28, 1963. Nabil told me that this would be a date which needed to be marked in the calendar. What ever that means! The whole yesterday Nabil ran through the house nervously. He told me much about King the last weeks and I’m waiting in suspense to see the person which made my brother come here. My brother whom I have lost.

“Come on Mali”, cries Nabil.
“We’re going by bus to the city centre”.
“By what?” Nabil smiles.
“Come on, I’ll show ya!” Nabil explains the meaning of “public transport. I did see cars in my life but I never went by one.
The bus is totally overcrowded by black people. They are all talking pell-mell. Half an hour later (Nabil explained the meaning of “clocks” to me) the bus stops and the mob takes off.
“Just follow the crowd and give me your hand so we are not loosing each other,” screams Nabil. I hesitate but as he is edged out further and further away I quickly grab the hand of my friend.
After some walk we finally reach a gigantic place which is all full of people. I’m so fascinated that I can’t speak a word. For infinite time I stand there and just watch the masses. Suddenly I have to rub my eyes. I think I’m dreaming cause this cannot be true. At the other end of the place there is Rashid through the crowd. As I stare at him our eyes meet. For a long moment we just stand there looking at each other. Then we both start to run. At this one moment I forget about the whole past: All the pain, all the fear, all the suffering. Rashid was not dead. The two of us were in America. Together. I make my way through the crowd and run as fast as possible. As I reach Rashid we are hugging each other as like we hadn’t seen for years. Then Rashid lets off and looks me in the eyes.
“Know what Malik? You are my real KING”.