AN ESSAY ON THE ROLE OF THE WHITEMAN IN AFRICAN CIVILIZATION

‘Each person is in some way a secret from all others. We are made that way. When I come to the city at night, I know that each house holds a secret. Each room in each house holds a secret. And each person on earth hides in their heart at least one secret from everyone else, even to the one who is closest to them. People are not like books or bodies of water. You may read a page or two of a person, but they will close up long before you know all that is in them. The water that is in a person will freeze over before you can see all that hides under it. It is like part of every person is dead to others, and will never be known. My friend is dead, my neighbor is dead; the love of my love is dead, and in this am too dead to them. Is there anybody buried in this city that is harder for me to know now than are people who are still alive in it?’ in this statement, Charles dickens tries to explain the mysteries of human beings. I also carry this thought, knowing that not a human being in this world will ever be straight forward. There will never be any pure truth that will ever be told by a human mouth, because before the utterance of those words, they are always stored in the heart. In the heart, they are furnished to suit a particular circumstance. I therefore tend to think that not a poet; a historian, an artist or a writer has ever been absolutely sincere in his works.

A lot has been written about Africa in the past. A lot of theories have been developed to explain about the revolution of the black man. A lot has been said about the changes that the blackman’s society has undergone. A lot of terms have been coined. We have different perspectives to the same subject. We have both positive and negative stories about one subject. These stories do not develop themselves. They are developed by humans. And every human has his inclinations. Every man is either inclined to his thoughts or his emotions. Every kind of literature that exists is therefore inclined to one’s thoughts or emotions. Therefore, there will always be a hidden side of the story.

The picture that comes to your mind when you think of the black man in the 19^th century will always be fascinating. Every time I tend to think of this, a train of images follow suit. In my mind, I see a pathetic hut with smoke issuing from within, a child fouling in the bushes, and a man sleeping with goats and cattle in the same roof. My thoughts do not end there. I always have a way to shift in through time to the 21^st century. When I do so, am able to see a noble brick or stone walled house, a pit latrine, and a cow pen aside. And all this are owned by the Blackman. Could all this have been acquired without the intervention of the Whiteman?

In the 1800’s the white man looked beyond and saw a continent. A continent occupied by black men. He thought of it as the Dark Continent. The reason, whatever it is, satisfied him. It might have been due to the color of the skin, or the mode of life this man lived. Then, the Whiteman thought that the continent needed enlightenment. Then he set foot to this continent. What intrigued me is that the Whiteman fought against himself for this Dark Continent. Then, from this struggle for Africa, a term was coined; the scramble for Africa. I believe it is from this term where all sorts of theories about Africa developed. Africans are proud that their continent was worth a fight. They give several reasons. They say that it was due to its fertile soils and rich minerals that arouse greed in the Whiteman. I find it partially true.

It is true that the Whiteman drove the people out of their lands. He enslaved them and made them toil hard on pieces of land that had once belonged to them. That was the greed this man brought with him into the continent. The very same man brought a faith. He brought medicine. He brought clothes with him. He brought education with him. He built schools. He then let the Blackman access these. For it might have hurt him to see blackmen in animal hides. For those who argue that the African man should go back to his roots, he should begin by denouncing education. Isn’t it enough for the Blackman to live on oral narrations as the mode of education? Let the Blackman denounce medicine and hospitals. So that he can go back to his herbal concoction. Let the black man denounce clothes. So that he can go back to his animal hide. Then, he will have all the freedom to shout, from the top of his voice that the Whiteman is evil. He will then have the right to denounce the Whiteman. He will have the right to say that the Whiteman brought nothing but pain, sorrow and death.

The true fact is that the Blackman does not want to admit that he was backward. The Blackman thinks that by accepting the fact that the Whiteman brought him into a better world, he would be admitting defeat. To me, it is not true. The Blackman should not feel ashamed by admitting that he was backward. The Blackman should not restrain himself from giving credit to where it deserves. To me, I think that the Blackman should laugh and cry at the same time. Then, he would be in harmony with himself. He would even be more joyful by looking at the evolutionary steps his society has taken. He should look at his current self and manage to smile when he sees his quality of life. Diseases have been averted. He no longer sleeps with cows and goats. He no longer has to walk miles and miles bare footed. He no longer has to walk to the river for water. This is because the White man gave it to him. Of course, with a price.

Currently, almost the whole world population subscribes to Christian faith. The Blackman is included. It is very intriguing to see a Blackman erect a church and kneel down and afford to pray. I believe we all agree that faith is the basis of human life. When we believe in Christ who was hanged on a tree, we do not think of a Whiteman’s god. We believe in God. Why then, should we not thank those who introduced this to us?

When we gain the knowledge of writing, we always feel proud. When we argue with our fellows, quoting from books, we feel awesome. Why then, should we not give credit to where it deserves. Our lives are better than our great grandfathers. We should then stop whining and living in the past. It does not help.
By
  Oscar Shakespeare Ghitto