Read Online Black Gold of the Sun by Ekow Eshun - Free Book Online Page B

chubby-legged boys who burped like frogs over lunch. What did they know about giant snails or ants that could kill a tortoise? What did they know about Burma Camp?
    And if they didn’t know, how could I begin to tell them? When my mind drifted off in the playground, I pictured beggars with rickets and kids my age with the swollen bellies that came from drinking contaminated water. I remembered General Acheampong’s face on television, gleaming with sweat. So I said nothing. And they drew their own conclusions about me.
    I seemed to elicit a fascination in them. They patted my hair for springiness and pulled the coils straight to test its tensile strength. In the sunshine of an outdoor swimming lesson the water shone iridescent on my skin. Sage words were exchanged on its seal-like consistency, and fingers pinched at my arms to see if I carried an extra layer of fat. Only my eyes and teeth would be visible in the dark they insisted, reaching for the light switch to test their theories.
    Eyes moist with compassion, Mrs O’Rourke bent towards me outside the school gates. ‘And what tribe are you from, dear?’
    â€˜I live on Beverly Drive, Mrs O’Rourke.’
    â€˜Yes, dear, but where are you
really
from?’
    I couldn’t blame them. My friends grew up on Tarzan movies and TV series about white heroes in the bush such as
Daktari
and
Cowboy in Africa
. Everywhere they looked black people stood dumb and bestial. All they had to do was open the
Beano
to find the piccaninny girl in
Lord Snooty
with her big, white eyes and knotted hair. In
Doctor Doolittle
, the ‘mud-coloured’ Prince Bumpo offered half his kingdom to the good doctor in exchange for being turned white. A jungle tribe worshipped wooden statues of Tintin and Snowy in
Tintin in the Congo
.
    The closer you looked, the worse it got. At peak time on Saturday nights, BBC One would broadcast the
Black & White Minstrel Show
. It wasn’t a programme my family made an effort to watch. Sometimes I’d catch it while alone in the living room, though, and I’d sit mesmerized as the minstrels smacked their lips and plucked their banjos. It took me a while to realize the show was set in a skewed version of the antebellum South. Eyes rolling like marbles it seemed they couldn’t have been happier than when they leaned their heads together for a close harmony rendition of ‘Ol’ Man River’.
    As the cameras drew tighter I saw their faces glistening with greasepaint under the studio lights. Pink tongues flickered in white-rimmed mouths. Beneath the mask of black imbecility another consciousness stirred. What did the world look like through the eyes of a Black and WhiteMinstrel? At its peak the programme drew 16 million viewers. When it was cancelled in 1978, there were letters of protest to the BBC and revivals that toured for years after on the regional stage. George Mitchell, the show’s creator, always insisted it was harmless entertainment. But remembering what I glimpsed in the faces of his minstrels I’m not so sure. Behind the make-up, their eyes flashed with an awareness of their real mission. This, I believe, was to occlude the difference between the fantasy and reality of black people. The minstrels weren’t truly pretending to be black. Their job was to reflect how a white audience wanted to see blacks: as supine, childlike and cretinous. The same way we were presented, with less sophistication, in
Tintin
,
Tarzan
and
Lord Snooty
.
    Cloaked as entertainment the programme was ostensibly victimless. At school the following Monday, when Mr Ramsden the PE teacher liked to tell me I had a chip on my shoulder, I could see its consequences. Unless I was as quiescent as a Black and White Minstrel I deserved to be cautioned and, in Mr Ramsden’s case, given detention for ‘too much lip’. Fantasy was as potent as reality.
    Over on ITV you could find
Love Thy Neighbour
, a sitcom about a