It had been two years since my best friend left for America. She was attending college, the name I can’t remember so well; but for a while she had been trying to convince me to come. During our talks she would tell me how beautiful it was and how much fun she was having. Oh and her big thing was the fashion, she would say “Girl, you should see how these Americans dress! It’s amazing!” No matter how many stories she told in order to convince me to come, I would always remind her of the responsibilities I had in Liberia. I was married with three young kids, my whole life was there. Even though my marriage was a disaster I was still trying to hang in there for the children.
As months past Liberia began to change for the worst. The first incident was a protest about the price of rice. Many people in Monrovia, the capital, were upset because the government raised the price for no other reason than greed. You know how important rice is to Liberians, so the people took to streets. It began as a peaceful march then after police arrived; it was a full blown riot. People were destroying cars and breaking into stores, the next day the city looked like a war zone. Soon after these riots became a weekly thing. So I started saving up money, a year later I got my visa. I did not want to leave my children but I knew a civil war was going to be the outcome.
It was 1985, and I finally saved up enough money for a plane ticket to America. I finally left my abusive husband and left the children with my mother. The day I left was the hardest, my two oldest children were crying and holding on to me, but my youngest who was about three years-old at the time, said nothing. He just held on to a toy that I had given to him, and stared right through me. It broke my heart. I really did not want to leave them but I knew I had to in order for them to survive.
In 1989 a civil war broke out; it was to be the war that destroyed Liberia. I became the sole provider for my whole family; cousins, aunts, uncles etc. If I did not leave when I did we all would have starved. After many years of trying I was finally able to get all three children and mother to America. Although it hurt to leave, I knew this was something I had to do – it all worked out for the best.
Hey Anselme! This is great. First off, it's a riveting topic. And I think you captured the voice/style of Malcolm X. Like the second sentence: "She was attending college, the name I can't remember so well." Malcom X does that a lot-- he reminds you that he's retelling a story from memory (at one point, he does an almost aside to the reader and says "It's amazing how I remember all these names, even now!" or something like that).
ReplyDeleteI also like how the description of the riots in Liberia is very one-sided and opinonated: "the government raised the price for no other reason than greed" and "you know how important rice is to Liberians." That also reminds me of Malcolm X, how he infuses his memories with his opinions on white people and racism and etc. It's not an objective account, but it's not supposed to be. It's how she remembered it. I like that you don't try to infuse the history with objective facts; you tell us that there were riots and a civil war, but you do it through her own unique perspective.
The only criticism I really have is that you rush through the events, but I think you had to because of word count! The only thing I would say is, the last graf, maybe instead of jumping to 1989, finish with what happened when she got to America. But overall it is a great little piece, really interesting, and I think you did a really excellent job of capturing the style and voice of Malcolm X.
Kim