Imperialism+Jigsaw+Projects+1D



Imperialism in Africa Again I sigh. Despite the interest and love for my white friend, I can not help but feel the want to step on his shiny black shoes he always wears but never gets as dirty and black as my bare feet. My feet and his feet are both black but those shoes are never filthy. And as if that is not enough, if he takes of those shoes, as he does when he occasionally wants to dunk them in cold running water, they will reveal a clean…white pair of feet that I will never see at the end of my two black sticks. “And in Frankfert there are these massive buildings to which you can’t even start comparing, if u can find something to compare to in this place. Oh god. Seriously, our men built them! They are as tall as your grey elephants! Even bigger I’ll bet!” Bigger than the elephants. As my shoulders move up then down in time with the puff of air escaping my mouth, I stare at my blue eyed friend. And in those big blue eyes, I see myself – blacker than the pupils of his eyes. How can one person have so many different hues on them, I have no idea. Not only that, I also have not the slightest clue as to why my father, actually, my entire family and neighbours, hate my being with this beautiful creature so much. They are, in fact, scared to death themselves and they often all gather up to either talk to me or beat me for befriending a foreigner. I see the sun sinking into the now orange water that lay before Armin and me and know that it is time for me to get going now. I know I am in trouble. But so is Armin. We stand up together to go home. Oh indeed we share the same address as my family is in servitude of Armin’s. As we walk through the city, as always, we notice that we are the only black and white side by side. The whites are on the sidewalk built especially for them and the blacks are on the streets along with (cars). Armin and I laugh at them as they have so much trouble blending into one another. Well, salt and pepper never are in the same shaker. The salt and pepper stare at  From the street on was a small farm of what people call “Afrikaaners,” but I think they call themselves the “boers” or something. I forget. Usually we just walked past them but today Armin decides to stop. “My dad said that these people were disgusting and they didn’t deserve to have the same skin colour as us. He said that his plan is to have all the Afrikaans off this land because its ours. And apparently we are in war with them right now but we already had a 80 year long war before. Boer War, I think.” I figured the Afrikaaners must be evil black men that had the initiative to colour themselves white. As Armin and I continue walking, I think to myself how desperate they must be in order to smear white paint on themselves to get themselves into the salt shaker. Again, I feel so insignificant for not being able to notice the fake skin on those Afrikaans. I must say, the whites are much more perceptive than I am. We now pass the familiar tree with only a scarce number of leaves and I know from here that it is about a count to 300 that Armin and I will be met with harsh but familiar voices. This tree stands tall with two ways – one for me and one for Armin. My family and I live in the cabin beside Armin’s big mansion and only my mother has actually been into the house as sometimes she needs to cook for Armin’s family and their guests. We say goodbye to meet what we do not deserve. When I come home, my father does not greet me, instead he slaps across my face, and demands where I was all day. When I tell him the truth as always, because I do not see anything quite wrong in that, he starts to beat me. But today, he did not beat me but set me down and opened his mouth. “Son, I want you to know something. Those white skinned creatures are not humans despite the fact that they never treated us like we are. They took our land, they took a part of our tribe, they took our lives and they took our freedom. Son, for generations, those beasts have been treating as if we are dirt.” “Son, every single day a black man dies in the hands of a white man. Every single day a black man is torn from their tribe to be with a new one. We had to collaborate with the Zulus – our enemy for hundreds of years – because of them. Every single day our traditional culture dies a little.” Is my father correct? Is it true that those white men that I admire so much have hurt my family? But my family is nothing! We are merely a group of  In bewilderment, I stand up to my feet quietly. I stumble out of the cabin and with my dirty black bare feet I dash outside into Armin’s garden. In my head, I try to process my father’s words as well as his lack of action. The reason he did not beat me was..? Perhaps it is because he finally realized that I do not deserve to be beaten like him from Armin’s father. I find a bush big enough to hide me – it’s a perfect location to think with the brick wall to lean against. However today, as I start to sit down onto the fine grass I notice the noise coming from the window over my head. I listen. “Armin, you are not to befriend this filthy black child! Do you understand me? We are here for the //land// and //power// our ancestors wanted to gain here. Not friends. We, the Van Bismark’s, have prided ourselves in the fact that we, as a patriotic family, does what Germany needs. And right now. What Germany needs is not to make friends here but to gain power and land. Your great grandfather, Otto Van Bismark, had made a beautiful decision to scramble for Africa and he did it for not his benefit but for all of Germany. France and England were the leading countries during your great grandfather’s time and he, as perceptive and clever as he was, that those countries will not fight for something useless. They had opportunities for new markets and colonization. By following them, it had led us to more natural resources like cotton. European economy is prospering because we have this place down. But if people like you try to befriend those we are using, those blacks will think that we are easy and try to fight us off with those … rocks that they call weapons. And that will interfere with our diplomatic plans, would it not?” No answer from Armin. “I have trouble understanding why they do not comprehend the idea of //modernization.// We have developed the infrastructure and introduced modern medicine for the sick of this continent! They should thank us! We are heavenly beings for them. //We helped them.//” I do not know what to feel. I have been given two stories when there evidently is one. One long story from the landing of the whites on this continent to now. To now where the story is told from two different people. Would it have the same ending?