Soul Makossa- Part One
Brooklyn, 1972
On the streets of New York, a lonely wolf walked on his way back home to his Spartan Bronx tenement, his white robe, clothing, and conch shell necklace a major departure from the attire of the suits and ties of most New Yorkers. This wolf with the outlandish garb received many looks from the ones who were waiting for the bus to board. The day was cloudy and cold, for it was mid-November in New York and the rainy cold and snows of a Northeastern winter were very quickly approaching. And this cold and this drab existence as a scowling New Yorker made Malcolm Mwebaka think back to his home, a sunny and warm paradise close to nature yet also a capital city- a place where the old sacred paths of nature and the amazing wonders of technology fought each other in a battle for the hearts and minds of Africa. The city was Yaounde, it was the capital of the Cameroon. And in the wolf's mind, there was no better place in the world.
At his home, he would never have seen the disrespect that the New Yorkers paid each other but Mwebaka was constantly reminding himself that Americans and Cameroonians were very different, in many respects. Everything that he learned growing up in the Cameroon would have to be unlearned in New York- the mindset of America was much different than the mindset of Africa. For instance, in the Cameroon someone who had many sons was thought of as a blessed man but in New York, small families were desired. The concept of birth control was lost on Mwebaka and this was only one example of a culture that seemed remarkably foreign to him.
"So you lived in a country where the people are illiterate and live in mud huts. And you hunt for food and don't drink clean water. I guess it would be terrible to be from your homeland," a high-powered vixen CEO spoke to him when they had boarded the bus, settling in for the twenty-minute ride from Manhattan to the Bronx. Dressed as she was in designer dresses and hundred-dollar shoes, those words were definitely not ones of friendship and support but condescension. Mwebaka did not think of his homeland as being particularly poor, although he was a member of Yaounde's middle class, which by American standards was still pretty poor.
"No, madam. I don't think the people of the Cameroon are unfortunate". And when he said that, the nun and some of the other New Yorkers in the bus who had just assumed that the wolf didn't know English were rightly shocked. "We might not have much, maybe we are 'poor' by your accounts. But at least we can be happy with what we do own." The New Yorkers, and for that matter, Americans in general owned so much and yet surprisingly they were hardly thankful for what the Lord had given them.
These thoughts entered his mind as he left the bus and went home to his apartment, a small cramped house which was somewhat larger than the mud huts near the slum but much smaller than the suburban-style houses in Yaounde's better neighborhoods where he spent his childhood. He thought back to his childhood, spent under the warmth and brightness of the African sun, his family's conversion to Christianity due to the generosity and goodwill of a local Catholic mission near his home, and he wanted home. It was then that his thoughts were interrupted by a phone call from his mother, which Malcolm had learned painfully was not at all free.
"Cassandra, don't you realize a call across the Atlantic costs me money."
"I call I miss you." Those five words spoken from a mother who did not understand English very well spoke to the wolf's soul. It was her belief as it was his father's that by going to America, Malcolm stood a great possibility of becoming rich and well-educated, giving remittances to them. But these dreams were not realized at first because the difficulty of renting an apartment was much greater than he had first anticipated, forcing the wolf to be under-employed at a cannery. This was unskilled labor for a skilled man who had a degree from the University of Yaounde and a Catholic school education before that. So far America had turned out to be quite a disappointment but the wolf still kept the belief that something here would be worth his while.
Cassandra Mwebaka had every right because she had not spoken to him in months. When Mwebaka saw his first phone bill, which was a staggering sum he decided to turn off power to the phone. This, of course, meant that the immigration agency, his employer, his friends, and his family could no longer contact him and he became almost entirely dependent on a stipend from a New York church who considered Mwebaka a missionary to immigrant groups.
About the only time Mwebaka ever felt at home was indeed witnessing his beliefs to other immigrants, who were similarly homesick/confused by their new country. Outside of them, the entire world was a world full of strangers in drab business suits and ties and wearing the clothing of his old country was one of the way he could keep his bearings in a world populated by foreigners.
The day of minimum-wage at a fish cannery was over and the time was for the evening news. As he turned on his TV, he heard the attractive cat-girl speak about news and events throughout the city.
"And thanks for that update. In other news, Cameroonian saxophonist Mamadou Dikhango famous for his new hit single "Soul Makossa" will be performing at the Studio 54 this weekend to start his American tour."
What luck? Here was the chance to meet a countryman so far from his homeland and Mwebaka decided right then and there that no matter what the cost of going to the Studio 54 wherever that was would be worth it. Perhaps America would have something in it that would have been worth writing home about.