NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire V. 16.1 | Page 10
But that was not the end of our
sibling arguments over shadows.
We disagreed on the color of human
shadows. Noting that ours were always
black, my brother asserted, with
absolute certainty, that it was simply
because we were black. Black shadows
were for black people; white shadows
for white people; Brown, for brown
people. The shadows imitated us in
everything, why not in the color of the
skin? When I pointed out that shadows
from plants were also dark, he said it
was because they were plants. Human
shadows were different: after all plant
shadows were stationary. We could
only settle the dispute by checking
with humans.
There were no whites in our village;
they lived on the other side of the
railway-line, hidden behind big houses
in big plantations, and inside
automobiles. Our best hope was with
Indians. They may not have been as
white as the whites from Europe, but
we could draw logical conclusions from
any difference we detected between
African and Indian shadows.
8
So one day we set out to the Indian
shopping center, two miles from our
village. In keeping with the solemnity
of our mission, we had our single
calico wear washed properly and dried
the night before. Thus, we dressed in
our clean best. We did not whisper the
intent of our journey of exploration to
our parents or any other of our siblings.
Although I took a different view over
the matter, I was not averse to my
brother being right, a white shadow
would be something to behold, and it
was with great curiosity and anticipation
that we looked at our first Indian
encounters: children outside the shops.
Their shadows behaved in the same way
that ours did: the avatars followed and
ran away but never completely
detaching themselves from the body of
the Indian original. And they were
black. Maybe it was because they were
shadows of children? It turned out to
be the same with the Indian adults.
Dark shadows. But whites, real whites?
Real white shadows?
And then good luck fell upon us.
A white couple drove past in a car.
A rare sight, this. We mingled with the
Indian children who surrounded the
vehicle to see the couple come out.
The children commented on their
clothes, shoes and jewelry, their gait:
they were real Europeans with sun
helmets to shield themselves from the
sun. The couple walked out with stiff
dignity almost brushing aside the
anthropological gaze from the other
but occasionally acknowledged it with
attempts to deflect it by throwing some
coins some distance away. They briefly
watched the children run after the
treasure, but a few would not take
part in the scramble, almost as if these
rejected the attempts to turn them
into the object of gaze.
But my brother and I were interested in
one thing only: their shadows. Alas, theirs
crossed with the many of the people still
surrounding the couple. Thereafter, the
couple walked under the verandah where
their shadows became indistinct from
those of the roofs of buildings. Even after
all the other children had satisfied their
curiosity and gone away, we didn’t give
up but stalked them from one grocery
to the next. The white pair tried to
throw us off by flinging some coins on
the ground. We did not budge.
We needed their shadows not their coins.
We wanted the pair to come out of the
cover of the verandah.
Eventually, they did come out of the
verandahs. We followed them towards
their car. And then we saw their
shadows, clear, distinct. Alas, theirs
behaved like ours, the Indians’, and
they were as dark as ours. It was not
enough for my brother and me, and we
kept on following the pair expecting
their real shadows to somehow appear.
Out of curiosity, the couple stopped
and beckoned us. The woman took out
some candy. We shook our heads.
What do you want?
“Shake your hands,” my brother blurted
out, casting a glance at me.
I knew what was the meaning of the
glance. The woman carefully put on
her gloves and, with a bemused look,
extended a gloved hand to my brother.
I was not looking at the handshake:
I concentrated on the shadows on the
ground. It was my turn to shake hands
with the equally bemused gentleman
who did not bother to put on a glove.
My brother did what I had done:
concentrated on the shadows.
We arrived at the same thought.
We went home, silent, not arguing,
nobody claiming victory, not even
discussing the reaction of the white
couple to our desire. But we were
united by a discovery that needed no
words. At home we told the other
siblings that we had discovered a secret.
We gave a day when we would disclose
our finding. Word went out. On the
evening of our disclosure, our hut was
packed. Some stood outside. We noted
that even some distant neighbors had
joined the expectant crowd.