have a job like his if you’re not interested in different people and cultures.”
“Forget books,” I said. “They’re all written by guys who don’t do anything but read other books. Let’s go ask some actual African guys.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” he said. “I’m not going to go ask Liberian bigwigs if they snack on people sometimes.”
“They’re bigwigs?”
“Duh. Yeah, they work in the Liberian government.”
I remembered the coup, and wondered if any of thoseguys were involved. Probably not. One had even gone to Harvard University.
“We’re not going to ask them if
they’re
cannibals,” I explained. “We’ll just ask if there ever
were
any cannibals. It’s different.”
“All right, but you ask.”
We went out to the living room, where the men’s conversation had gotten more quiet and serious. They stopped talking when they saw Matt and me come in.
“Hey, kids, what’s up?” Darryl asked. His voice had an edge to it.
“We just had an argument,” I said.
“Not an argument,” said Matt. “We were just talking about Africa and we want to know something.”
The men all looked at me curiously, and I froze. I tried to think of a more harmless question but couldn’t.
“What do you want to know about Africa?” Caesar asked softly.
I let it fly. “Were there really cannibals in West Africa?” Everyone looked at me for a moment. “I mean, I don’t think there were, but in this game we’re playing—also, in books—”
“What kind of question is that?” Darryl asked sharply. The way he was looking at me, I thought I might incinerate on the spot. He shifted his eyes to Matt, his eyebrows arched. Matt was the one who was going to be in trouble, I realized, for even letting me open my fat mouth.
“I don’t think there were,” I said again. Darryl’s expression didn’t change.
“Why shouldn’t the boys be curious?” Caesar said. “These legends are common enough. The movies and books, they all have these cannibals with the bones in their hair.” He positioned his own finger at the top of his head and grimaced, baring his teeth. It was funny, but nobody laughed. The mood was too thick for laughing now. “This is how we are portrayed.”
“The Africans themselves are somewhat to blame for those lies,” Jerry said thoughtfully. “They tell the explorers and the anthropologists that the tribe over the hill are cannibals. It is the humor of the bush, to trick these strangers, and to insult their own enemies. There are often old conflicts between the tribes—fighting over land or water or game, or selling each other out to slave traders. They get back by maligning each other.
“So the Kpelle say it of the Krahn. The Krahn say it of the Gola. The white scholars, they write it all down. They never see it with their own eyes. Who is going to go over the hill to meet those cannibals? They just write their scholarly books, and the newspapers repeat the juiciest parts, and the novelists and movie companies turn the newspaper stories into books and movies, and then your entire continent thinks we are all cannibals.”
There was another long silence as Jerry’s words sank in.
“Well, I think that’s the wisest explanation you’ll ever hear,” said Darryl.
I’d rubbed at a very sensitive sore, I knew, and didn’t know how to undo it. “Thanks.” I turned to go back to Matt’s room, where I’d probably open a window and scaledown the wall and just walk out of Monrovia into the jungle and never be seen again.
“Don’t be disappointed,” said Caesar. “I was disappointed to find the American streets weren’t paved with gold and that all Americans didn’t drive around in Cadillac cars.” He grinned amicably, but again, nobody laughed.
We slunk back to Matt’s room. We didn’t play the game. Matt just read, and I doodled in my notebook. His dad came in a while later.
“I’m sorry, Dar … Mr. Miller,” I said before he even opened his mouth.
“Forget books,” I said. “They’re all written by guys who don’t do anything but read other books. Let’s go ask some actual African guys.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” he said. “I’m not going to go ask Liberian bigwigs if they snack on people sometimes.”
“They’re bigwigs?”
“Duh. Yeah, they work in the Liberian government.”
I remembered the coup, and wondered if any of thoseguys were involved. Probably not. One had even gone to Harvard University.
“We’re not going to ask them if
they’re
cannibals,” I explained. “We’ll just ask if there ever
were
any cannibals. It’s different.”
“All right, but you ask.”
We went out to the living room, where the men’s conversation had gotten more quiet and serious. They stopped talking when they saw Matt and me come in.
“Hey, kids, what’s up?” Darryl asked. His voice had an edge to it.
“We just had an argument,” I said.
“Not an argument,” said Matt. “We were just talking about Africa and we want to know something.”
The men all looked at me curiously, and I froze. I tried to think of a more harmless question but couldn’t.
“What do you want to know about Africa?” Caesar asked softly.
I let it fly. “Were there really cannibals in West Africa?” Everyone looked at me for a moment. “I mean, I don’t think there were, but in this game we’re playing—also, in books—”
“What kind of question is that?” Darryl asked sharply. The way he was looking at me, I thought I might incinerate on the spot. He shifted his eyes to Matt, his eyebrows arched. Matt was the one who was going to be in trouble, I realized, for even letting me open my fat mouth.
“I don’t think there were,” I said again. Darryl’s expression didn’t change.
“Why shouldn’t the boys be curious?” Caesar said. “These legends are common enough. The movies and books, they all have these cannibals with the bones in their hair.” He positioned his own finger at the top of his head and grimaced, baring his teeth. It was funny, but nobody laughed. The mood was too thick for laughing now. “This is how we are portrayed.”
“The Africans themselves are somewhat to blame for those lies,” Jerry said thoughtfully. “They tell the explorers and the anthropologists that the tribe over the hill are cannibals. It is the humor of the bush, to trick these strangers, and to insult their own enemies. There are often old conflicts between the tribes—fighting over land or water or game, or selling each other out to slave traders. They get back by maligning each other.
“So the Kpelle say it of the Krahn. The Krahn say it of the Gola. The white scholars, they write it all down. They never see it with their own eyes. Who is going to go over the hill to meet those cannibals? They just write their scholarly books, and the newspapers repeat the juiciest parts, and the novelists and movie companies turn the newspaper stories into books and movies, and then your entire continent thinks we are all cannibals.”
There was another long silence as Jerry’s words sank in.
“Well, I think that’s the wisest explanation you’ll ever hear,” said Darryl.
I’d rubbed at a very sensitive sore, I knew, and didn’t know how to undo it. “Thanks.” I turned to go back to Matt’s room, where I’d probably open a window and scaledown the wall and just walk out of Monrovia into the jungle and never be seen again.
“Don’t be disappointed,” said Caesar. “I was disappointed to find the American streets weren’t paved with gold and that all Americans didn’t drive around in Cadillac cars.” He grinned amicably, but again, nobody laughed.
We slunk back to Matt’s room. We didn’t play the game. Matt just read, and I doodled in my notebook. His dad came in a while later.
“I’m sorry, Dar … Mr. Miller,” I said before he even opened his mouth.
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