Creatwinning - Black History Month

the police was the only thing to do. She reported to the police what had happened and at the same time shoved me toward the kitchen door in the back of the room, mouthing “go, quickly” to me. In hindsight, this moment of leaving Nora to wait for the police with a body in the house was probably why my aversion to kitchen doors grew exponentially and was no longer only centered around annoyance. It is a full-blown childhood trauma leaving behind the only family you have to an unknown fate in a system that stacked the odds against you before you could say “Inequality”. I made it about ten yards out the door before hearing the sirens in the distance, and decided to hide in the shrubbery outside the kitchen to listen in on the conversation. If I were to leave now there is no way the police wouldn’t see meIt's weird how even though the entire event felt so surreal, almost like a nightmare, I can still remember every little sensation, smell and feeling I had in those moments. Probably because the experience I made didn’t only traumatize me but it also was an eye opener and a wake up call for me to finally realise what a crazy, often cruel world we were living in. Also, I had a massive adrenaline high and my senses were sharper than ever before. Even though the severe and

stressed energy that surrounded the officers didn’t change throughout their investigation, something about the way they looked at Nora changed with the time. The very subtle but friendly and sympathetic smiles on their faces disappeared with every word Nora said. They looked at her from head to toe as if they didn’t believe a word she was saying… or probably they didn’t even listen as they simply didn’t care… “You look a certain way, you are a certain way”, that’s how white people see us. Welcome to the wonderful world of prejudices and stereotypes. Growing up, I was always aware of being black, we all are. We are made aware of it by our white counterparts, by the jobs our parents occupy, by the lack of money and the resulting lack of things it can buy. By the rumbling stomachs around us, by the desolation in our neighbours' eyes, by the seats on a bus you can’t take and by the places you take a shit. You name it, we live it. But until today I never really understood. My teenage years were spent listening to speeches by Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcom X. Revolution has been in the blood pumping through my veins from the time I was old enough to understand. “Fight for your beliefs for freedom, equality, for your rights!” Yet, until today I never

Without thinking, she responded: “What? From the South.” Miss O’Shay nodded slightly and continued: “Since when do you live here?” “We moved here a few years ago.” Nancy Lee became every second more confused. She started questioning why she had been called into the vice principal’s office, whether something had happened or she had done something wrong – maybe it was about the rumours a few years ago. “And you are originally from Africa? So, did your parents go to school?” The pen was again in Miss O’Shay’s hand and without looking down and loosing Nancy Lee out of sight, she noted things down on a clean sheet of white paper. “Yes, but that was many generations ago. My parents went to a school in the South.” There was a short break in which Miss O’Shay took notes and Nancy Lee tried to get her thoughts into order. “Excuse me, Miss. But I don’t understand, why did you call me into your office?” “Oh, that was just out of interest.”, she responded without looking at Nancy Lee and added, while taking a look at the plant, that decorated her,

otherwise plain, desk: “I need to talk to you about the art competition you took part in.”At last, Nancy Lee started feeling euphoric and comfortable again, she smiled and was sure of the good news. “Did you hear of the results already?” “No, I haven’t and that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Miss O’Shay cleared her throat and added: “It’s just that… it’s that we think that you should no longer take part in the competition.” “What?”, Nancy Lee replied half laughing until she caught Miss O’Shay’s eyes and her smile disappeared into the nowhere. “I am sorry, I really don’t understand. Why would you think that?” “We have looked through the work of your opponents and there is just no chance that you are going to win, I am sorry.” Nancy Lee was shocked, all her hopes destroyed and she couldn’t bring herself to look up again. She imagined her parents when she admitted what had happened. They would be just as disappointed as her.Miss O’Shay didn’t stop and continued explaining: “Your painting is not special in a way that the others are and we think that it carries the wrong values. Especially the symbolism you wanted to express is

(Alaa) ...to be as content and free of worries as her. The little girl seemed to abandon reality, leaving it all behind her back and blocking out all the negativity in the worn out seats, the sweaty workers and the drunk man yelling, only giving her attention to her book. She seemed so detached from this reality around her, choosing to focus on herself and what mattered to her instead. Just what made her happy. A soft smile never leaving her lips as her eyes scanned through the letters and lines of the text, occasionally flipping the pages and letting out little giggles. Ignoring the shaking of the carriage and everyone around her, even Karen herself. Karin for the first time felt it wasn't so bad to have no one paying attention to her. The more she studied the girl, the more she felt like no one really mattered. She shouldn't care about what others thought of her. She didn't need anyone to put a smile on her face and make her happy. She could find happiness by herself, within herself, or perhaps in her coming baby. She was not supposed to wait for other people to make her happy. She did not need Phillip to be happy about their baby.He had the choice of sharing that happiness with her, but it seemed that he didn't want it.

That doesn't mean she is not supposed to be happy at all, he shouldn't take away her happiness because he was an asshole. And the idea of Phillip telling her to get rid of the baby, to let go of her new found happiness, it made it impossible for her to put her hands away from her stomach, as if trying to protect her baby still. After a long moment of staring, the little girl seemed to have noticed her gaze so she looked up from her book, studied her posture and expression for a moment before letting out a giggle, giving her a little smile, then her attention returned to her book again. And with that Karen willed herself to look away, cheeks dusted with faint pink as her eyes scanned through the carriage. (Caterina) On the next stop a young girl got on the train. She was young , she could have been sixteen or seventeen, the same age as Karen. The girl was wearing a white dress, which Karen found an entrancing contrast to her dark skin colour and&nbsp;had immediately caught Karen’s eyes. She seemed to be in a hurry, and looked nervously at her watch:&nbsp;Karen thought&nbsp;the girl was probably going to an important meeting, maybe with a fashion designer.

At that moment she finally realized that Phillip does not love her. He actually never did. And because the child is a part of Karen, too, he would not be able to love the child either. (Ending)&nbsp; As the train’s rattling movement finally came to a complete stop, Karen felt like getting out of the stuffy interior. Even though she hasn’t been to this particular station before, a breeze of fresh air wafted into her face. It was at this very moment, that Karen realized for how long she’s been holding her breath. While exhaling she realized that she was actually existing. And that she would be noticed. But it was her turn to change something.&nbsp;

I looked at Wangero. She has always been a very smart little girl and I knew that when she grows up she will be a strong independent woman and she won't let anyone take her rights from her. After we finished eating, me and Wangero went to the kitchen to wash the dishes together as we used to do when she was younger. I used to wash the dishes and she used to dry them while singing together. When all the cleaning was done, Wangero and Hakeem wanted to leave and Hakeem was heading for his leather jacket. Then I turned and said: „Wangero, come here.“ I hugged her tightly, if it was the last time. I looked at her golden earrings, hanging down to her shoulders. Golden as her heart. „I thoroughly thought about what you said earlier and I realized that you are totally right! You found the right words. I want the best possible life for you and Maggie. For you and Maggie I want to, as you do, start interacting with other people and fight for our rights because I know that we deserve a better life. So I definitely want to support you and will always be there for you whenever you need me. I know you are a strong and independent woman, however I’m your mother and I’m always there for you. I’ll always be.” Wangero, visibly touched by the goodbye, looked at me. Hakeem was already waiting at the doorsteps. 

We both felt like there were no further words needed. We went in front of the house. Even Maggie stepped towards Hakeem Ababa and hugged him while smiling. That looked so cute that even I would have liked to take a picture with Wangero‘s Polaroid of all three together. And then my daughter said “So Mama, I’d like to see you soon again. Maybe you can visit us? But remember, don’t let yourself be put in an oppressive position. Act. Make something out of it. We all have the right to live our life to the fullest. I love you, see you soon.” My daughter. Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo. She gave me a kiss on my forehead, and jumped into her car, Hakeem next to her. Her loose yellow and orange dress floated in the light breeze of this summer evening. She shined so bright in the warm light of the sunset. The earth takes its turn and when tomorrow comes, there will come the next sun rays to enlighten the earth's surface again.

Next, we went inside the house. In the kitchen, I wanted to cook something to eat together with Wangero. I had this meal in mind, the meal I cooked regularly in her childhood. She liked it so much. “Can you already take out the food out of the fridge for your favourite recipe?” I asked. But she answered “No, Mama. I don’t want to cook this.” - “Why? I don’t understand, you always loved it so much.” I said, and Wangero answered “I don’t want to stick to these traditional, cultural things.” That confused me. I did not understand at first. However I tried to not be personally offended and kept a straight face. “So you want to cook something else?” I asked. Wangero responds&nbsp;“It‘s fine, mom. I got to cook my favourite meal. I can show you how I cook it my way. Let me help you!“ Okay, I just need a cooking pot. “Hmm, ehm” oh, I forgot Asalamalakim’s name again. Well, I’m just gonna avoid pronouncing his name. But I think it was something with “a-barber”. So, “Could you pass me the cooking pot, please?” I asked him in a friendly way and put on a smile on my face, hoping that he is not too offended that I just can‘t pronounce his name.&nbsp;“Sure” he said and grinned back at me. When he is smiling his mule tail beard doesn’t look as strange anymore. I put the water for

the rice in the pot to boil. Meanwhile, Maggie appeared next to my feet and said “Uhnnnh”. It sounds like sucking in a huge breath as you see a rattlesnake just in front of your feet. Asalamalakim seemed to be happy that she came back and said “Ah Maggie, there you are”. He kneeled down towards Maggie to lift her up, but she did not seem to be very interested. Just responding with a disinterested breath “Uhnnnh”, Asalamalakim put her back on the ground and gave up connecting with Maggie for instant. “I’m just going to sit in the chair over there, call me when you need me”, he said. &nbsp; I took the chance to speak to Wangero alone, because I was still curious, what drove her to the decision to change her name. So i said “Wangero, that’s a beautiful name. But what changed your mind to rename yourself?” Wangero looked at me for a moment before she started talking and then said “ Look Mama, whenever I leave the house and go to town by bus, the other people look at me differently, they treat me differently. The others say now, black and white people are the same and that we have the same rights, but then, they don’t act that way. They still treat us differently, they still act like they‘re superior, there’s still an everyday use of racism.

father crying in her life and that she knew that her mother had a doctor's appointment today because of the coughing she has since more than 2 months,turned her thoughts grey for a second time in her life as her creative mind pictured her mother being severely sick. She sat on the bus back home for 20 minutes but for her, it felt like hours.&nbsp;She felt heavy and could not move. Her mind jumped from one disease to another. Is it cancer or something even worse. Her father would not have called her if it is only a cold and why did not her mother called her, her father normally never uses his phone. Completely exhausted and full of sweat she tried to open the door of her home with a shaking hand and after hundreds of tries of putting the key in the lock, she finally got it but you could not tell if she even wanted to enter the house. After waiting in front of the door for long time, she finally had the strength to open it. Her mother and father were already waiting. In front of them on a desk was a form. She could only read Malcolm hospital but that already confirmed what she believed. Nancy lee was not able to say anything. She was paralyzed by the word on the form and struggled to stand. Before falling on the ground she was able to hold tight on a chair. Her father then started to talk in a tone that she never 

heard him talk before. He was always her strong dad but right now he was struggling. He was not even able to form correct sentences. Therefor Nancy Lee could not really understand what he said but she heard one word cancer. Although she kind of already predicted it that word was like punch in her face.Nancy Lee couldn’t believe how severe the situation of her mother was. Her mind was everywhere. Struggling to hold on to one single thought of hers. What should she do now? What about her father and how is he handling the situation? Is there a way she can help mother? And in the very moment Nancy Lee looked at her mother, she saw the emptiness in her eyes and the struggle she kept inside just to keep her daughter in the thought, that it would become better. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and before she realised it both her parents came to her and hold her tight. And after a long time of silence her father whispered in her ear, “ I am here for you! And you will see that everything find its way.” When the three of them returned to their seat, Nancy told them without hesitation, that she would help are mother by paying her treatment. They didn’t respond right away, but were more than happy to hear that. Her mother was close to tears and answered to

Suddenly she heard the rough voice of his saying,”Miss Lee, I am following you for quite a while and am impressed of your work. You are quite a talented artist.”&nbsp; Nancy looked at him. Slowly processing what he just said.&nbsp;He thought that she is talented, and an artist and that he followed her for quite a while.&nbsp; He continued,” I am a talent scout searching for young talents like you are.”&nbsp; Nancy added,” I am surprised and delighted by your words.However I am not even at college right now to improve my skills.&nbsp; “At my organisation we could help you find the right college and furthermore help you financially, if you just keep doing arts and improve your work. Just give me your address and mobile number and I will send you all the forms, which you have to fill in and give me at our next meeting” So,&nbsp;Nancy Lee gave her personal information to him and a few days later she received the forms, which she gladly filled in. On that special day, she couldn’t help but grin. She always dreamt of going to college to prove her talent to everyone and furthermore improve her skills. And with great anticipation, she can’t wait for the first semester to start.

I don’t like kitchen doors. Entering people’s houses by them, I mean. I’d done this thing most of my life when I called at places where Nora worked to pick up the patched or worn sheets or the half-eaten roasts, the battered, tarnished silver-the fringe benefits of a housemaid. As a teenager I’d told Nora I was through with that crap; I was not going through anyone’s kitchen door. She only laughed and said I’d learn.'0ne day soon after, I called for her and without knocking walked right through the front door of this house and right on through the living room. I was almost out of the room when I saw feet behind the couch.

I slowly walked around the sofa, to see who was lying behind it. I was scared, because I didn’t know what I was going to find. Who I was going to find. What if it was Nora? The thought clouded my mind and scared me to death so I quickly wiped it away and tried to calm my nerves. What would happen to me if she was gone? Seeing as my siblings were all older than me and already moved out, Nora was the only “family” I had here. If she was really gone, where would I end up? Who would I talk to, when things really started to piss me off. I felt a little overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions and fear I felt. Even though she wasn’t around much, I know she loved me more than life. As I got closer to the sofa, I quickly figured out that it couldn’t be Nora who was lying on the floor. Relief washed through me, immediately followed by the next worse case scenario my head constructed. Who else could it be, if it wasn’t Nora…? The body lying in front of me had big feet, which helped me to conclude that it wasn’t any of the house staff since they were all women with quite small feet. When I stepped into the patch of sunlight streaming through the window, I realised something else:&nbsp;The legs attached to the feet were white as paper, something I couldn’t make out before because of the angle the

She wished to be that girl as she would have loved to work for a big fashion house. That girl gave her hope: she realized that no matter the skin colour, you can still reach for your dreams. She felt a flatter in her heart. From somewhere deep inside&nbsp;a voice called her “ Get it together girl: you are going to make it.”&nbsp;And with this new found awareness, she smiled at the dachshund who was gently biting her backpack. She rubbed her head and took the girl in the white dress as a sign: she thought she should honor her growing strength by going to the mall on the weekend. (Charlotte) ‘’What now? Huh? What now? You wanna come closer, or what?’’ The drunk man slurred again towards the black man with his smart suit sitting on one of the worn-out seating areas. As drunk as he was, he now almost lost hold of the stretched strap with his last limp fingers when the train moved around another bend. Every time that he was shaken about, he struggled to keep his balance and pattered erratically with his feet from the left to the right. With each step he scared people away who were trying to keep their distance from the stinging smell of alcohol and dishonouring words diffusing the train’s interior

toxically. Karen herself was feeling grossed out, disgusted of him and still being so unsteady, she tried to grip the latches of the door she was leaning against even tighter to comfort herself. This was exactly it. The discriminating pressure she was experiencing on a daily basis right in front of her, so inevitable, so harsh on her, so outrageous, all consuming. The man now almost lost control of his body movements and stopped screaming so loud and disgraciously, completely out of strength to keep his focus on what he was saying. The power he once gained from his heavy intake to yell now revealed its reversed effect and the alcohol in his system let him struggle to keep his consciousness. He tried to right himself up, slowly recognized the drool on his chin and his vision turning blurry. Eventually, he managed to lift his red watery eyes, which he attempted to keep open, and directly met with Karen’s eyes. A glance so full of desperation and hopelessness, so lost. Karen realized that his crude manner was an effect of himself losing control over his life, losing things he once could hold onto, just as he almost completely lost hold of the strap in that moving train car. Alcohol and hatred on other people as a coping &nbsp;

light hit the body. Must be Mr. Weinstein, the houseowner. Nora’s employer. I’ve heard countless&nbsp;stories about him and how he treated his employees, especially the female staff. In most of them, he came off as a leech, a predator. Nora often came home super stressed and angry, telling me stories of him making inappropriate and racist comments…of him cornering the maids in dark hallways...shit like that. I peeked behind the couch and recoiled instantly. That was Mr. Weinstein, alright. Well, a messed up horror movie version of him, anyways. His face was grey and his lips had a bluish tint. So, what now? What exactly was the protocol for finding a potential dead white man in his own home? Call the police? Right, call the police as the son of a black staff member of said white man, admitting to them that I found the dead man but had no idea how or why he happened to be dead behind his couch? I think not. Find Nora? Solid plan, but if Mrs. Weinstein or one of hertrustfund-silver-spoon sons find me slinking around the house, there is no telling what they might do to me or my mum. So, no again.I was saved from having to keep plotting my next move when Nora appeared behind me and, after taking in the scene, grabbed my arm and shoved me back in

the direction of the kitchen. “What are we gonna do?” I asked quietly, parts scared, parts inappropriately excited. I love a good story, always have. She took my shoulders and turned me to face her, never letting her hold slip. “You saw nothing here today, understand? You will leave right now and come back in half an hour to pick me up as usual. To make sure they know you had nothing to do with this. No one knows about this, understand boy?” she implored me and looked me straight in the eyes. There&nbsp;was a panicked look in them I had never seen before. Without talking, we both knew what this meant for us and our future. My mother was the only other person that was present at the moment of Mr. Weinstein's death. It didn’t look too good for her and obviously she’d look like the only possible suspect to the cops. Unless they knew I was here. If they were to find me in the same house as a dead white man...Yeah, I’d be in deep shit alright. What with the news about Black people criminality and them standing up to white folks.The next thing I remember was my mother making a grab for the telephone right next to us on the kitchen counter. Nora was a very logical person, and even though she probably feared that the police officers wouldn‘t believe in her innocence, she also knew that calling

Nancy, “My dear Darling, I couldn’t be more thankful to have a daughter like you. You have your heart in the right spot.”Before she actually started crying, Nancy, still couldn’t keep a thought, responded, “ Mom, I am more than happy to help you. You are important for me. And for now we just need to improve your health condition and hopefully everything will be back to normal.” After month of treating her mother’s illness, Nancy’s money, which she saved for college, became less and less. However, her mother’s health condition was getting better and Nancy Lee was relieved to see that but also more than merrier that spending the money on her treatment was the right decision she made. During all this time, Nancy still went to the market in order to sell her paintings about Afro American Experience. Old and New customers went by buying one of her drawings.&nbsp; One day she went to her booth, it looked for Nancy just like every other day. One of her paintings she had brought with her she was really proud of.On it was a black woman. Nancy Lee focused on her face while painting it. This is why the observer could see the woman’s tears running down her face, on which three stripes of the colour red, white and blue were painted. The black woman hang the American flag

around her body on which blood spatter could be identified. Nancy Lee took this picture and looked at it for quite a while. While observing it, she passed her hand over the painting. Every brushstroke so precise and the colours so bright. She couldn’t do anything about but she had to grin.Not because her drawing represented a wonderful situation but because she kept on doing her art and that is what makes her proud. So, she hung it up in order for customers to see it. After that she did the same with all the other painting she brought with her. The weather was like the ones you get in summer, a little breeze while the sun is warming up your body. Besides that the day on the market was quite calm for Nancy. Not busy at all. After hours of sitting at her booth, a man not older than forty came by and looked at the pictures. She immediately asked, if she could help him.&nbsp; But he responded with a counter-question, “Are you Miss Nancy Lee?”&nbsp; “Yes, I am. How can I can help you?”, interrogated Nancy slightly confused about the situation.&nbsp; The man looked at Nancy and then at the paintings. He did this probably a while. Nancy started to feel uncomfortable and started worrying about her pictures being not good enough.&nbsp;

...Verlie’s life took a sudden turn. It was a mild summer afternoon. Verlie was preparing a meal in the kitchen as she did every day, waiting for her husband to come home from work. Their children were gamboling on the streets in the sun, enjoying some free time before dinner. Verlie always had an eye on them since she knew that their neighborhood was not the safest to be around. She continued to wash and cut up some vegetables, while occasionally glancing out the window. As time was passing, she started thinking of Horace, who already should have been home by then. He usually did not linger around after work to make sure he was back for dinner on time, always hungry and weary from the manual labor of the construction site. And so, it truly was a relief when Verlie heard the sturdy knock on their front door.&nbsp;Hastily, she moved over the kitchen floor to greet her husband, but as she turned the doorknob and opened up, a bitter shock struck her body. A white man wearing a dark blue uniform was broadly standing in their doorway, directly facing her. The shimmering badge on his chest immediately caught her eye and caused a heavy feeling of fear and repugnance. “Are you Mrs. Johnson?” Yes. “Your husband is awaiting you in court, accused of thievery”.&nbsp;

From the beginning, she had known that there could not be good news coming from a policeman, but this was worse than anything she could have ever imagined. Her vision started to blur and she could feel her hands shivering. Everything she saw around her in that entrance, all the pictures, the children's coats, once so familiar, now seemed to be endlessly far away. The way to the court had been unbearably long. Verlie looked out of the window, staring into the horizon as several thoughts flashed through her mind. After having driven by the fields and the forest, they finally arrived at the well-known bridge she used to cross so often. She took a look at her children, crammed up on the backseat, holding each other's hands. Seeing their helpless faces she felt a sharp pain squeezing her chest, like a tight grip that made it nearly impossible to breathe. At that moment she knew for herself, that she would willingly do anything to ensure their wellbeing. Eventually, she could see the small box houses as they drove by, knowing that they were about to arrive at the police station. Entering the courtroom every muscle felt so tight, sprung for action and she could not even walk. The

The officers didn’t apologise and no one, except me it seemed, expected them to. Nora and I never spoke of that afternoon ever again. It was as though it had never happened. But it had. That afternoon was the reason I became a writer. Weeks afterwards I often lay awake in bed at night and imagined different outcomes and from there I started putting my ideas to paper. I shook off the memory as I turned into the Couchmans’ driveway, ready to pick up Nora, hoping she would be waiting for me outside. But since I couldn’t see her anywhere, I shut off the car’s engine and got out. It was moments like these, I hated most. I remembered how much i used to get insulted because i was black and how much i cried out of loneliness. Moments when I wished I wasn’t black, so that I could simply knock on the front door and wouldn’t have to use the kitchen door. The blasted cursed kitchen door. I jerked my head, angry at myself. Why would I want to be someone else? It shouldn’t have to be me who changed in order to fit in, it should be them, white people. With grim determination I made my way around the house, and after taking a deep breath, in through the kitchen door. Nora was neither in the kitchen nor anywhere

else in the vicinity so I wandered a little further into the house.Annoyed at her for making me slink around the house like a thief, I was about to turn on my heels when something behind the couch caught my eye. Was that…? Yes, there was the tip of a shoe peeking out from behind the couch. Damned kitchen door nightmare….why didn’t I learn? Didn’t I tell Nora that I would never ever set foot in a house that I had to enter through the kitchen door ever again??? Well, I guess that is why people say never say never… &nbsp;

not appropriate.” Nancy Lee didn’t feel like adding something, but just sat there quiet and calm while her future broke into a thousand tiny pieces. She barely heard anything of the following explanation and only realised her standing up after it was over and walking out the office, caught in her own thoughts and desperation.Why did they not pick me ? I was better than they were, she thought. She kept thinking about that and even after a long, emotional talk with her parents she could not let go of the feeling that ist was not about art but her heritage. What additionally really struck her was that not even her parents wanted her to keep trying to get to an art college. They saw her future having a simple job like them with a more or less stable income, but she wanted more. The first week after the talk with the Vice president she always dreamed about the portraits of all the scholarship winners. They were all white and repeatingly whispered in her ear you will never get it, you are black. As time passed she did not see the dreams as a nightmare anymore, but as a motivation because she finally understood what the vice principal, the school had done to her.&nbsp;So she began selling her art to collect money for college to prove everyone what she is capable of.

Her focus on achieving that goal was almost pathological. Over the time Nancy Lee found her own style, as Miss Dietrich told her to do, drawing about afro American culture. One of her pictures included a black man breaking his chains that were put on to him by white faces that flew around. She painted the black man so precisely that you could feel his pain, anger, and desire to be free but the white faces looked as if she did not want to put any effort into drawing them. Her art sold well and she was kind of famous in the black community as every picture included her anger and the anger of most of the black people about the discrimination that is afflicted on them. A year passed and Nancy Lee already began thinking about which courses in the Art school she will take. She could not decide between water coloring, which was always her strength and building sculptures, which really interested her. Nevertheless, that was no problem as she still had half a year to think about which course to pick. Nancy Lee still lacked some money for college. Around autumn after she finally decided to take water coloring, her father called and told her to come home earlier from the market. He had a strange voice and sounded as if he is crying. The fact that Nancy Lee has never heard or seen her 

got lost in my thoughts.I thought about what she had just said. Bringing order to my flow of thoughts, lingering on one realization, moving to the next thought. I was still impressed. It felt like two minutes passed, and Wangero already shouted over to us “Dinner is ready!”&nbsp;Where did time pass? Well, I will help her to bring the things on the table. The food looked so good. The smell of spices, spices of all kinds that I never really smelled, just got up in my nose. My mind seemed to blossom. Her speech, the food, my mind, I felt like some new areas in my brain got activated, I never believed they existed. The warm light from the sun radiated through the window. The table and the whole room got lightened. I felt the warmth of the sun, spreading on my skin. I felt like everything was just enlightening and blossoming like a beautiful wildflower meadow. Glancing out through the window, I saw the flowers. Sun rays were falling on the colourful leaves. The yellow and orange fluorescence caught my eye, just as Wangero’s dress did. I think it is of such paramount importance to fully comprehend what is present, what is right in front of your eyes.&nbsp;&nbsp;

It took me some energy to bring my body up moving towards the prepared table, I sat down on my chair and we began eating. “Thank you Wangero, it tastes so well.” I told her and she answered “Not for that, it’s a pleasure for me.” And even Maggie agreeably said „Uhnnnh, mhhh”. We all sat down at the table and started eating in silence. We were all starting to eat, enjoying the different flavors and spices. The only sounds came from Maggie, who repeatedly goes on „Uhnnnh, mmh“. It was just a simple peaceful silence, no words needed. When Wangero asked “Can you pass me the water, Mama“, I passed her the water bottle without a word. I gazed at Hakim-a-barber who also ate happily in silence. When I looked at him, I still wondered how his name actually is pronounced. So I just ask him one last time “Hukim-a-barber?“, he turns and smiles genuinely, “Actually once again, how is your name pronounced correctly?“ He replies word for word “Ha-keem“, I nodded, „a-ba-ba.“ I repeat „Hakeem Ababa!?“ and he proudly answers „Right. There you go!“. I just comprehended Hakeem‘s full name. We continued our feast and as everyone‘s plates were empty, we started laughing because Maggie had

That, black people, as reckless as they are, they were inferior and dumb.” he reflected on his beliefs. “But when I look back and reconsider, it turns out, I am the thoughtless one. I focused more on details rather than the bigger picture. Those black people actually were the ones who saved my life without taking a penny also despite me being who I am” he started realizing. “What I did towards them, what I knew about them is complete nonsense. From today on, I promise myself to treat everybody equally no matter what” he reconciled falling asleep.

going. After all, you have four children to feed, if I’m not mistaken. You have to consider yourself lucky that I am even talking to the likes of you. Not accepting this offer would be a great mistake on your behalf.” going. After all, you have four children to feed, if I’m not mistaken. You have to consider yourself lucky that I am even talking to the likes of you. Not accepting this offer would be a great mistake on your behalf.” Her usual calm had been replaced by a carousel of thoughts, each one more worrying than the last. The high walls of the courtroom seemed even more enormous now than when she had put her feet in the room. A giant surface of cold stone vastly surrounding her while the silence was almost suffocating and the tension was getting unbearable as Mr.Todd looked at her in anticipation. They both knew what she was going to answer. Looking back years later, it was the right thing to do. The children are safe and eating well, and the hope of Horace being alive remains. Although thoughts of him accompany her through every day, she wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes ever again. Too much has happened, and too many questions were left unanswered on that fateful day. That is also the reason why Mr.Todd prefers to tell

people that it has always been that way, Verlie living with them as their maid. And admittedly, it does feel like she had always been with them. Her memory is the only thing left reminding her of those old days.The whistling sound of the boiling kettle erupts Verlie from her thoughts. she slowly removes it from the fire and pours it into the porcelain teapot where she usually prepares Mrs. Todd's tea. Verlie wishes with all her heart to someday treat herself with such a beautiful porcelain set just as the one the Todds own. Simultaneously, she switches the coffee machine on, to make sure Mr. Todd's coffee is ready by the time he arrives downstairs. The kids finish their breakfast, stand up without thanking Verlie, and leave for school. Verlie exhales deeply while thinking of her kids and how she would love to be with them right now. Then unexpectedly, she feels two big hands gently stroking over her waist. She turns around abruptly removing Mr. Todd's hands from her body. Even after ten years of sleeping with him, she hasn’t accustomed herself to feel the touch of any other hands than Horaces’. Mr. Todd grabs his coffee and sits down on the red velvet chair at the head of the table. He picks up the newspaper Verlie put on the table just some minutes ago and starts to flip through the pages.

You can’t disagree with it, or why do you think there are nightclubs, where just the white people are allowed in, or why most of us African Americans live together in areas where barely any white folks are seen? They still separate us.” She was right, there’s still racism out there, subtle racism, segregation, hate, but I still didn’t understand how that led to her decision of changing her name. “Have a look at Malcom X. He joined the Nation of Islam, and changed his name to Malcolm X. The "X" stood for his unknown African name. For the name “little”, which he has been given by his oppressors. And as he did, I did. Like I said, I couldn’t bear it any longer, being named after the people who oppress me. And it’s not just us. Many more people will join this movement and show the world that they can’t keep treating us like that. They will see that we will fight against our oppressors and then, one day they will treat all of us, no matter what skin colour, equally.” That struck me deep inside. I was kind of perplexed. Wangero just addressed what always remains unspoken. I realized what is present all the time and knew. I simply knew. Why have I never faced these thoughts? Why hasn’t anybody faced these thoughts? Indeed, I know activists like Malcom X,

Mohammed Ali and Martin Luther King, but I just did not really reflect the world. Unconsciously, I was thankful in some way for my daughter, speaking out the truth that I seemed to always be too afraid to pronounce. And as an approval Maggie goes calmly „Uhnnnh“ like someone who understood and felt just what to do next. Listening to what Wangero said I felt like she could actually be right. She opened my eyes to things that I didn't think about. I looked at Wangero and saw the strength and eager in her eyes, I smiled while nodding to her and said “Look Wangero, I don't have anything against you changing your name and you have all the right to change your name, if you feel that way.” and then I went closer to her and hugged her tightly and gave her a kiss on the forehead. I felt so proud of her. When did the time pass? When did she get so self conscious and strong. “Mama, you can sit down and relax yourself. I’m going to prepare the meal, let me surprise you.” she said, and I responded “Are you sure?” “I am. No problem.” Wangero said. I remotely gave her a sign of agreement, gave her a warm smile, and sat down next to her friend, the barber, Asalamalakim, whatever, I can‘t help it, who already seemed to fall asleep waiting over there.&nbsp; Waiting there for Wangero to prepare the meal, I

blurred thoughts of his wife and little Peggy Sue. He was almost certain that he wouldn’t see them again. Then his thoughts shifted to what he should do to save his life.‘‘If we went on that bus we’d be dead.’’ said the old guy from the bus stop. ‘‘Thank god that idiot didn't take us on board’’ shrieked the woman. ‘‘911, How can I help you.’’ ‘‘There was a terrible accident at Blair street crossing. There’s this one dude who’s heavily injured.’’ ‘‘Help is on the way. Don’t go near the bus until help arrives and the accident scene is cleared by the police We can’t predict if the Bus might explode.’’ ‘‘Guys, we must try to save that poor bus driver.’’ said the woman in a commanding voice to her husband and father. Both men started running towards the bus. As the bus driver was slipping into unconsciousness, he sensed hands touching his shoulders and heard the sound of an ambulance and fire brigade approaching.Soon enough adrenaline started rushing through the bus driver’s body, still stuck in the wreckage he started panicking. As his vision cleared up he saw the same people he denied on the bus standing right in front of him looking down.

“What are you waiting for? Help me Goddammit!” They just continued staring at him, the two men looked back at the woman as if asking her permission to help him. “I know! I have money, I can pay you just get me out of here already”. The woman bends down to the bus driver’s eye level and stares him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know what kind of people you think we are but we don’t need money or a reward for saving someone! I guess we’re all humans, so that’s to be expected, aren’t we? Keep your damn money to yourself, pull him out, boys!” As the two guys pulled him out of the wreckage the ambulance arrived, at this point the bus driver was falling unconscious once more, but before that he managed to thank the woman and the men that he had coldly denied before. “Where am I?...” The bus driver asked himself curiously. &nbsp;“Oh, I remember, these inappropriate black people. God, they piss me off. One time they are irresponsible and next time they go ahead and save my life.” he thought to himself with an irritated expression on his face. “I always believed that white people are superior.

The bus driver was still tired. He steered his bus along the to him boringly known road in a shambling motion. Onward he drove and passed Greynold Lane where he turned left onto Timmoth Square and was heading for Newchestershire. The road last mentioned led out of town and suburbs and meandered itself through some nearby woods. It was the only place on his whole route that the bus driver didn't really dislike because it was seldomly used by others and traffic was the only thing constantly and annoyingly changing his everyday work. So he let the woods calm him and drift away in his thoughts while he let muscle memory take control of the driving. And these days his thoughts altogether loved, if not urged to drift to little Peggy sue which his wife hopefully had taken to the clinic today. Something so precious must not be harmed or sad. His precious should enjoy the most beautiful childhood one could wish for, idyllic, and well protected. Well protected from any vile and scruff and immodesty. Well protected from people like the ones encountered earlier.&nbsp;People with inferior self-consciousness and this ridiculous accent. How could any grown man neglect the duty and responsibility tasked upon him due to his role as a father and family man by being

being drunk in front of his wife and children? The bus driver indulged himself in thoughts of righteousness and rage. How can people like them even dare to obtain such a role if they befoul it with such despicable manners? All this should not happen to little Peggy Sue. Not once. Not ever. After a few hundred meters he could see the railway tracks. He looked at the warning light and the fence both indicated all clear, but he heard the sound of the coming train. He looked again at the light and fence, nothing changed. ‘‘My exhaustion must be playing with my hearing ’’, he said to himself trying to convince himself. Feeling safe, his mind shifted back to Peggy Sue. He started drawing a mental picture of what they would be doing together and how she would be laughing and playful. As he was crossing the tracks, he heard a very loud horn and his vision was blurred by a very bright light less than ten feet away. Before his mind could get a grasp of the situation, there was a high volume of the crashing of a high-speed cargo train hitting the middle section of his bus and dragging it for tens of meters; while train brakes were screaming. The bus driver laid there strapped to the driver seat bleeding from several wounds in his body and head. His brain, as if it was on a rollercoaster, was filled with

The sight of Horace being dragged out by the policemen has burned itself into her mind. The pain-filled face he made as he left the room, humiliated by the cheers of the crowd, would never leave her memory again.&nbsp;Eventually, she managed to send the children out of the courtroom to attain a moment to collect herself. Folding her hands together in her lap she closed her eyes, just like she did in church many times before. She prayed to the Lord for strength and for mercy on her children. The thought of leaving the room and going home to sit at the ready laid table without Horace was devastating. There was no possible way she could feed and take care of the four without his support. The feeling of helplessness and despondency weighed heavily on her shoulders. There were only a couple of people left in the room by then. Verlie kept staring at the ground to her feet and could almost see her own reflection in the perfectly polished dark marble. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the last few people leaving the room. Only the judge, Mr.Todd, was still standing behind the big wooden desk assembling his papers and gently placing them into his bag. All the rumors she has heard about him being ruthless and cold-blooded just became painfully real

to her. A sudden sense of anger filled up her veins, spreading through her whole body. Boiling with rage she jumped to her feet and heard her own voice break the silence, resounding through the whole hall: How could you do this! You have sinned against the Lord and you will stand before his judgment! “Excuse me Miss, but who exactly are you?” I am Verlie Johnson, the wife of the man you just punished to dea-, her voice cracked. Verlie could not hold it back anymore. This whole time she had been trying to push back her feelings, but now that she was speaking out loud, she could feel all of that built-up anger in her body dissolve abruptly, uncovering the indescribably great sadness she felt deep down in her heart. It was at that exact moment that Verlie started to face the reality that seemed so far away until then. “Oh, Verlie, right. Verlie -I say onto you- you are blessed, for you are born of water and of the Spirit. Let me propose something to you. You want me to have mercy on your husband, I will. I will be able to change his sentence to a lifetime in prison if you are willing to provide an according consideration. I have a house that has to be cleaned and the monotone life of a married man.&nbsp;I suppose you know where this is

understood why so many of our neighbours and friends stayed silent. Swallowed every insult, every indignity. Today I understand. Fear. Ice cold, paralysing, heart-stopping fear in the face of a monster beyond imagining: The American justice system. The white justice system. Because there is one thing that became more and more apparent with the officers’ shifts in the way they treated my mother. She was not “white”, not “one of them”. For them, that translated into her having the opposite traits of her white counterparts. Words like guilty, criminal, and volatile were combined with “black” in their minds. As a child I looked at people, only recognizing their human features, skin color and clothing didn’t matter. Let’s just say I grew out of it, pretty quickly. The day I found Mr. Weinstein was the first time in my life, that I personally experienced the hardships of racial segregation, and it changed the outlook I had on my future drastically. My mother was often treated as “less” by white people because of her occupation, but today, because of that combined with the colour of her skin, she was treated like a criminal. That event&nbsp;is deeply engraved into my subconsciousness.&nbsp;When they relocated to the living room to inspect the crime scene,

I knocked on the kitchen door, calling Nora’s name, as we agreed on. Before I realised what was happening, I had a gun shoved in my face while the officer barked at me to “show him my hands” and to “get down on the ground”. I vaguely heard nora trying to explain the situation, but much like before, the officers didn’t seem to be listening, their minds were made up. Black male, white dead male, same place, no one else around equals murderer. My face was pressed to the cold, hard tiles on the floor and one of the officers was twisting my arms on my back in a very painful way. Just as I was janked to my feet a cough sounded from the living room, followed by the sound of someone throwing up. Nora and I were pushed into the living room where Mrs. Weinstein kneeled next to her now-very-much-alive husband and his stomach contents. She looked disgusted. A look that changed to abject horror once she became aware of our presence. Seeing as we were now again merely black people and no longer black criminals, Nora and I were allowed to leave after we were sworn to absolute silence on the “accident” that had befallen Mr.Weinstein when he emptied out the medicine cabinet and topped off the pills with half a bottle of bourbon, the expensive kind.

room was bigger than the Johnsons’ entire house. High stone walls leading to the richly crested ceiling. She could instantly see Horace, crouched on a chestnut brown bench along the cold wall of the building.&nbsp;As she approached him, Verlie could hear her own steps echoing on the marbled floor. Her heart was beating hard against her chest as she came closer. When he raised his head and their eyes met, she could barely even talk. Her voice was unsteady and almost inaudible. Why? “I got fired from work. Didn't see any other way to bring home food.” Verlie and Horace were suddenly interrupted by a tall man in a black gown entering the room with big, loud footsteps. She looked up to him, as he walked up the narrow stairs leading up to the well behind the wooden bar. Verlie remembered the tattle of two young ladies she overheard at the barber while getting her braids done some weeks ago. This could be the widely known judge, Mr. Todd, she had heard about in several conversations. The attorneys were already seated, pulling out sleek-leathered folders while talking to one another. Then the judge gavelled the convention to order. The loud jab caused by the gavel hitting the wood echoed between the four walls of the big room

leaving Verlie paralyzed. Verlies brain was buzzing with worries. Thousand whirring thoughts crossed her mind. She tried to understand the conversation of the five white men sitting in front of her but all she could hear was an indistinct chatter.All of a sudden, Verlie snapped out of her thoughts as she heard the jab of the gavel repeatedly. The judge asked for silence. “Mr. Johnson you are sentenced with the death penalty.” Loud cheers rose from the audience. The policemen surrounding Horace stood up immediately, pulling both of his arms in a remarkably ruthless way. Then, one by one, the four attorneys stood up and directed themselves to the big door leaving the room. The last thing Verlie saw were Horaces’ tearful eyes as he was dragged out of the room. The room started to empty up but Verlie stayed seated on the wooden bench, for what has felt like ages. She was not able to look away from the door leading to the long corridor Horace was escorted out through. Her oldest boy kept asking questions, becoming progressively more frantic with tears filling up his eyes. Verlie could feel her kid’s hands tucking on her dress but was unable to move, almost petrified by the sheer shock and disbelief that filled up her whole body.

mechanism were the seed and root of his aggressive behaviour. Eventually, Karen tightened her grip around the door’s latch even further. She might have lost trust in herself, her family’s and Philip’s support vanished, but she got this, she was holding on, wasn’t about to let go, for herself and for her baby.(Nicole) Then she took another look through the train. She recognized two people, who were in love with each other. A couple. On the first look, they did not seem as if they would belong to each other. Each of them looked so different. And in fact, they are. The girl was a person of colour; just as her clothes. She wore a conspicuous, yellow dress with black and red circles on it. Her braids were at waist height and adorned with golden rings. When Karen saw her, she did not only see the beauty or the conspicuousness in the girl’s persona. Karen saw the culture behind it. Her culture, bravely and proudly embraced by a stranger. On the other hand, there was this boy. He seemed more like a ”typical“ white boy. His appearance was more modest; he was wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans with sneakers. In Karen’s point of view, he was much more modest than Phillip. But she was

not as extravagant as the unknown girl. Maybe they were just like this couple, except their roles were reversed.&nbsp;Karen tried to focus on other things, but then she acknowledged the couple once again. She observed the boy talking to his girlfriend sincerely, while he was touching her stomach softly – just for a second. But as short as the movement was, as expressive it was.&nbsp;The girl was pregnant. And the boy actually cared about it. Karen was puzzled. She could not understand how two completely different people could be so in love. She could really feel it – the intimacy, the respect, the joy between them. Why did she not have the same emotions when she was with Phillip? Like, they had a different ethnical background, too. That did not seem to sum up. Karen wanted to figure it out, so she took a closer look at the couple. What did they do differently? Then, she saw it – the look they gave each other. Their eyes were filled with pure love – and the eyes never lie. This was the similarity between the two. And then Karen understood. Differences are not necessarily an obstacle that restricts love. The differences are the reason for the attraction. It makes each of us individual – and that makes us comparable, lovable.

As she walked into the office she passed the walls with all the previous winners of the art competition, remembering how she saw them walk up on that stage with a smile and accept the awards and wondered if she was going to do that now. As she passed last year's winner she still had to squint her eyes to see the meaning behind the picture. As she passed the art works she looked at the framed pictures next to them with a photo of the winner, as she walked down the history of winners she came to a realisation, everyone was white. A suspicious feeling grew in her chest as she continued her walk down the hallway that now seemed darker and colder compared to a minute ago.&nbsp;A distant memory popped up in her head from when she had just started in this school, she remembered walking down this hallway on her way to the Vice Principals office when a couple of idiots in her class had started a rumour about her and she got called to her office, all that she could remember was that she went home that day with tears streaming down her eyes because the teacher had sided with the bullies instead of listening to her.&nbsp;Nancy Lee quickly got herself back together again as she stood outside the office and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Miss O’Shay’s voice could be heard through the door telling her

that it is open she, took another deep breath and opened the door with a smile on her face, with the hopes of making a good impression so that she would have a better chance to win the award.&nbsp; The open door gave entrance to Miss O’Shay’s spacious office. The woman sat behind her desk, her eyes were looking down as she was writing something in a hurry. Nancy Lee waited impatiently until the vice principal finally looked up. The colour of Nancy Lee’s face suddenly faded away and her smile disappeared. Miss O’Shay looked at her in a serious manner, her lips closed and the eyes slightly more closed than usual. As quick as she had turned her head towards the girl, she had turned it away again. Without looking at her, she said: “Have a seat.” Slowly Nancy Lee stepped forward and sat down right in front of the vice principal. Carefully she said: “You wanted to speak with me, Miss.” “Yes, I do.” Finally, she put the pen down and directed her sight directly towards Nancy Lee’s face. Her eyes were cold and Nancy Leen felt uncomfortable in every part of her body. “Where are you from again?” Nancy Lee couldn’t avoid looking confused by the question. She had expected every topic, except this.

Name

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