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Black Power by Richard Wright
By Richard Wright "What do you want?" "Nothing," I said, smiling at him. "What' s going on in there?" "You 're a stranger, aren't you?" "Yes; I'm an American." "Come on in," he said. I followed him in, noticing as I passed a row of dim-lit rooms that in some rooms only men were seated and in others only women.... We came to a swirling knot of men and women; they were dancing in a wide circle, barefooted, shuffling to the demoniacal beat of the drums which were being pounded by a group of men near the wall. The ground was wet from the recent rain and their bare feet slapped and caressed the earth. "Why are they dancing?" I asked the young man. "A girl has just died," he told me. There was no sadness or joy on their faces; they struck me as being people who had to go through with something and they were doing their job. Indeed, most of the faces seemed kind of absentminded. Now and then some man or woman would leave the ring and dance alone in the center. They danced not with their legs or arms, but with their entire bodies, moving slowly, undulating their abdomens, their eyes holding a faraway look. "Why are they dancing?" I asked again, recalling that I'd asked, the same question before, but feeling that I hadn't had an answer. "A young girl has just died, you see," he said. I still didn't know why they were dancing and I wanted to him a third time. An old man came to me and shook my hand, then offered me a chair. I sat and stared. The lanterns cast black shadows on the wet ground as the men and women moved slowly to the beat of the drums, their hands outstretched, their fingers trembling. Why are they dancing ...? It was like watching something transpire in a dream. Still another young man came and joined the two who now flanked my chair. They mumbled something together and then the young man who had brought me in stooped and whispered: "You'd better go now, sat." I rose and shook hands with them, then walked slowly over the wet earth, avoiding the rain puddles. Why are they dancing…? And their dancing was almost identical with the movements of the High Life dancing that I'd seen in the outdoor dance hall.... At the entrance I paused and looked back; I was surprised to see that the young man had discreetly followed me. "You say that a young girl has died?" "Yes, sar." "And that's why they are dancing?" "Yes, sar." I shook his hand and walked into the damp streets, my eyes aware of the flickering candles that stretched to both sides of me. Jesus Christ, I mumbled. I turned and retraced my steps and stood again in the entrance to the compound and saw that the men and women were now holding hands as they circled round and round. The young man stood watching me.... "Good night!" I called to him. "Good night, sar!" he answered. I walked briskly and determinedly off, looking over my shoulder and keeping in the line of my vision that dance; I stared at the circling men and women until I could see them no more. The women had been holding their hands joined together above the heads of the men, and the men, as though they had been playing London Bridge Is Falling Down, were filing with slow dignity through the handmade arches. The feet of the dancers had barely lifted from the ground as they shuffled; their bodies had made sharp angles as they moved and I had been surprised to see that they were moving much quicker than I had thought; they had given me the impression of moving slowly, lazily, but, at that distance, there was a kind of concentrated tension in their gyrations, yet they were utterly relaxed. I had been looking backward as I walked and then the young man pulled the wooden gate shut and it was gone forever... I had understood nothing. I was black and they were black, but my blackness did not help me. Excerpted from the book "Black Power," © 1954 by Richard Wright. Used with permission of John Hawkins & Associates Black Power by Richard Wright
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Poku on Ashanti Role in Slave Trade