“…please blame it on the Son of the Morning”
– Jay-Z
“It was a fearsome time in that Kongo Jungle, y’all would not believe. The animals, so many animals, all of them wild and hungry and they saw me and my people as food. We had to fight the animals to protect ourselves, to protect our homes. I was the leader because I could keep them safe. They all came to me for protection and I organized the willing into an army that was the nightmare of my enemies. “
Afonso was pontificating before a gathering of mostly white faces who had wandered the grounds of the circus after the main event under the large red and white tent. Afonso occupied one of many booths that the audience of the circus could enjoy that included a freak show, various games to win prizes, and a few vendors selling food. The grounds of the circus was practically a carnival in a large grass field of the Georgia town where the show had been for a week of a three-week engagement.
“Today, I will tell you the exciting story of how my Kongo army finally conquered the jungles. It was a hot day, and judging by the heat out here today, y’all know something about the heat. [Afonso paused for laughter and he looked smugly out on the crowd that was enthralled with his story and solidly sold on the whole act] But if you can imagine it, it was hotter than this, hot enough that your skin was always wet with sweat so that if a breeze found it’s way through all the trees and plants, it was a relief from that oven. We had just ended our annual tribute to the mighty Kongo River and we were about to leave our ceremonial spot next to the river, when out of nowhere, a bunch of spears started flying through the air in our direction. It was so many of them that they made this collective noise, this loud whoosh. My warriors were quick though, and before everyone was impaled including our Priestess who had begged for the river’s blessings in the coming year, they stacked their shields in a protective barrier, saving everyone. After the assault of the spears, we heard the battle cry of my sworn enemies, the Memba rebels who resisted my crown and stirred rebellion in the realms of my kingdom. They would randomly attack my people in packs, like guerillas, then disappear into the jungle. When they attacked us at the river, I was fed up. I fought them with my barehands, no weapons, and my warriors helped with the few that I didn’t put down. I was in a rage, as long as the Memba persisted, my kingdom wouldn’t achieve the unification that I fought so hard for. I wanted to give all people who looked like me a good life, and I wanted to give them Jesus like I had found him. After my hands were covered in the blood of nearly thirty rebels, I ordered my warriors to follow me into the jungle so we could weed out our menace once and for all. I would be the best bait, all of the rebels wanted the honor of killing the great Afonso, but they were all denied. We were in that hot jungle for months, and we slaughtered hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Now, that may sound barbaric, but I had to take a strong hand for the greater good of my people. I couldn’t let a few rotten apples spoil everything, so I did my righteous duty. And I stand before you today as a living testament to Jesus Christ himself who protected me in the wilds of the jungle.”
“Why are you here?” a female voice from the crowd shouted. “Shouldn’t you be with your people?”
Afonso nodded and gave a smirk as he held the audience on the edge of their seats, waiting for his response. Inside, he was giddy. Usually when someone asked that question, it meant that at least some believed every word he said, and he could milk a decent amount of money out of them, much more than the coins they paid to sit in the audience, by playing on their sympathies.
“I came to America in search of trading partners. The life that you Americans enjoy is so much easier, more comfortable than anything my people have ever known. I am traveling the world to learn about other cultures and when I return, I will build a modern life for my people back home. I have encountered very generous people on my travels with this glorious circus who have donated so much so that my people can have homes that are secure against the elements, and schools for the children. Americans are a very generous people…”
Before he could finish, he was interrupted by a middle-aged white man called Rusty who managed all of the booths and collected the money they earned. Afonso was angry and glared at Rusty as he sauntered onto the small stage.
“All right everyone,” Rusty said and he clapped as he stood next to Afonso at center stage. “Wasn’t that something? Give Afonso a big round of applause. The next show is in fifteen minutes if you wanna ask some more questions about the savage jungles of the Kongo.”
Afonso bowed regaly at the applause and he smiled despite the annoyance that Rusty had caused. Rusty grabbed his arm and led him off stage as the crowd cleared and the two stood behind the booth talking in low voices.
“What the hell was that, Russ?” Afonso asked angrily. He was mad, but he tempered his aggression when talking to white men, especially one that could fire him from his job. “I had them, they was about to start donating to build schools in the Kongo. You know I was gone cut you in, boss man…”
“Your boy is crying and throwing a fit,” Rusty said, mirroring Afonso’s annoyance. “I got somebody ready to pay a lot, and he crying like a little girl out there. You told me I could count on you, it’s too much money to be fucking it up. And if you fucking with my money, then I’m gone fuck with yours.”
“He said he was gone do it, Russ,” Afonso said. “Let me go talk to him.” He was walking away from the booth before he finished and Rusty practically jogged to match his pace. “It’s our money, Russ, you fucked with our money just now. That don’t make no sense.”
Eventually, they came to the back of the circus tent where there was a large wall of dark brown wood that was used in the circus act. During the show, a clown would put their head through a hole cut into the wall and others would throw whipped cream pies at him. Audience members were invited down to have a turn and it was one of the most popular acts of the main event.
Two white guys in their twenties leanes against the wall. One of them tossed a softball in one hand, and Rusty walked over to talk to them. Afonso walked to the back of the wall that was in shadow next to the back of the tent. There was a black man, about Afonso’s age, sitting with his back against the wall. Afonso could hear him crying softly and he leaned against the wall, looking down at the man.
“You ain’t say it was a fucking softball, Fonso,” the man said angrily, but he sounded much younger than he looked.
“What it matter what it is, Darren?” Afonso said as friendly as he could manage, though he didn’t sound friendly at all. “You ever held a twenty dollar bill before? Huh?”
Darren shook his head, sniffled and wiped his face.
“Then get it together, man, come on. You see them boys? They probably can’t even hit this big ass wall. Yo head is just a little circle on this whole thing. They ain’t gone hit you.”
“And what if they do?” Darren asked and stood to look Afonso in the eyes.
He wished that he hadn’t, Afonso almost felt sorry for the man. He’d found Darren begging for change outside a bar that he had attended a few nights before, and Darren was so grateful for the beer that Afonso had bought him that he was happy to do almost anything for him. When Afonso told him that he had a way to make a lot of money, probably more money than Darren had ever had in his life, Darren was all ears.
“White folks ain’t shit,” Afonso had said to Darren. “They shit on us cause they know we better than them. That’s why they treat us like they do, to make theyself feel better. They’ll pay a lot of money to feel better, ‘specially the rich ones. They just got money to throw away. You gotta learn how to use that against ’em. I made two hundred dollars last month, two hundred dollars, man. And all I did was put my head through a hole in a wall and talk shit to some white boys while they tried to hit me with balls. The more shit I talked, the wilder they was throwing, never hit me once. You should get in on it man, it’s the easiest shit to get paid for.”
Darren had agreed, just like every poor, black young man that Afonso had given the same speech as the circus traveled from city to city across the country.
“Maybe if I could see how you do it,” Darren pleaded with Afonso in the shadow behind the wall. “Just one time and then I’ll know and I’ll do it all the time for you.”
Afonso shook his head sadly. “I would if I could,” he said sympathetically, “but my boss man won’t let me do it no more since I been doing my whole King of the Kongo thing. You can do this. I bet you got plenty of shit built up already that you want to say to some white people. Here you go, this your chance. And you gone walk away from here richer than you was before. You got this, man.”
Darren nodded reluctantly and walked with shaking legs to the hole in the wall. Afonso leaned over to the side of the wall facing the sun and gave Rusty the thumbs up. The three white men walked eagerly away from the wall and stood facing it at a distance of about fifteen feet.
Afonso stood with his back against the wall in the shadow next to the tent. He never watched. Even if the man with his head in the hole was confident, sure that he could rattle the person trying to hit him in the face with a softball, Afonso knew that the white men wouldn’t let him take his head out of the hole until the black man had taken a softball to the face. When the black men in other cities had tried to leave, the white men just beat on them until they were content that the brutality they had inflicted on a black man was commensurate with the money they had paid Rusty. Afonso didn’t watch any of it, and he only hung around to make sure that he got his cut of the money Rusty made for finding someone to put their head through the hole.
“Come on, nigger!” Rusty yelled impatiently. “We ain’t got all day.”
Eventually, Afonso heard balls thudding against the wall. Darren didn’t say anything, he was too scared to even try to heckle the men. The thudding against the wall lasted for about five minutes, and then Afonso heard a familiar sound that turned his stomach and made it rise up into his throat. He swallowed hard to avoid vomiting. It was a quick knock, a high-pitched sound that was distinct from the thudding, and he heard Darren yelp as his scream of agony was stifled when he lost consciousness.
Rusty and the other white men were laughing uproariously. Afonso looked at Darren who had fallen on his back. He walked over to the man and even in the shadow, he could see the blood pouring from his mangled nose.
“He got another in him?” Afonso heard Rusty ask.
“I don’t think he breathing,” Afonso said.
“Ahh, well,” Rusty said and walked over to give Afonso a wad of bills. “I’m glad I got more money out of them than I normally do. Drag that body to my truck, I’ll drop him off somewhere, he probably just knocked out. Good job, boy. Keep this up, we’ll be rich before you know it.”
Afonso put Darren in the bed of Rusty’s truck and covered him with a tarp. He walked back to the tent where he slept and kept his personal effects, hoping to count his savings. He smiled as he walked. He’d finally saved enough, he could buy the old motorcycle that one of the stuntmen in the show was willing to sell him.
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