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09.06.2019 Feature Article

The Underground Man - Part 9

The Underground Man - Part 9
JUN 9, 2019 FEATURE ARTICLE

Westerland was insight, Hindenburg Damm passed and well behind her. She rented a bike near the station, pushed it through the city center a pedestrian street only, left and right with expensive shops towards the beach. Westerland was the capital city of the Island home to rich people. The street was straight that opened up the sight finally to see the endless North Sea far to the horizon. She looked into the Tourist Information, than she got onto her bike heading south observing and smelling the North Sea. To her right people were walking arm in arm towards her. Sun tents in their faces to make them people that enjoyed the closeness to the water, beach and special grass giving them stability in their lives.

In the distance naked men, women and children played volleyball on the beach that was sealed off from the rest of the all dressed up folks. Nobody on the island had any problem with nude people bathing and laughing in public while breasts, round and flat were hanging on various shaped bodies, dicks and balls moving wild up and down when men were running after thrown volleyballs besides the playground.

Anna rode along to stop at a quit spot, locked her bike around a metal lamp post, walked barefoot onto the sand to get closer to the water. She dropped her bath towel and basket with her lunch and candies covering the money purse with a cloth, stood in the warm water to see container ships on the horizon. Anna stood still wanting to hear the ocean to talk to her. She pushed all thoughts aside to empty her mind for something new. Then, something hit her legs gently. Anna looked down. A white bottle with something inside that looked like paper had come to her. Anna picked the bottle, looked at it with eyes full of questions.

Anna sat down in the sand, opened the bottle, took the paper out, unfolded it, saw a man`s handwritten words and started to read `I am so happy about our Day of Independence. Here our liberation finally has come. The British gave us today a joyful day for which many blood was shad when souls were lost. Oppression has come to an end and Democracy is insight. Ghana soon will be a Republic. We have come a long way. Ashanti Empire covering many parts of West-Africa once, is now heading to glory. Remembering this day in the time Asantehene was betrayed by his own Nanas hiding the much needed gold on his land from him he had needed to pay for his expenses for the Golden Stool to support power, all it was no more. When the Whites came to buy slaves, Otumfo saw his chance to capture his own fellow men, brought them to the shores of the Gulf of Guinea where the White Man had waited patiently for their living goods to be used on the cotton fields in Alabama and Georgia. No White Man went to the Hinterland to capture the Black Man. The dirty job was done by us Blacks alone as the White Man was scared to go inside the country fearing to be beheaded by the wild Black Man. Then they had done their part to make Millions, still now, unequal on the American continent. But as today our new President has declared the Black Man is capable to manage his own affairs. I believe him, so do many with me on this glorious day. Yes, I believe with all my heart it is now our time that has come to us; not only to be independent, but to rule the world. Mankind started here with us in Africa. Adam even means the Black Man. Civilization and culture is based on us. While the White Man was blessed by religion that is a system in itself to learn and improve itself and humans carrying it from level to level, we are left behind with our witchcraft, our JuJu. Witchcraft is nothing but an experience passed on from generation to generation without improvement, no level to climb, we the mandated true rulers of the world were overtaken in all walks of life by the White Man. But on this special day, March 6th 1957, God has decided the time has come to bring back the world ruler ship to us. The spirit of the White Man knows this. Whites’ harsh or friendly faces tries all he can to mess us up. He does not want us to succeed in life, only to survive and cause no problems to him. People with wisdom and understanding can see behind the trending words and actions from good and bad people and uncover the real motivation of helpers with knowledge and money. The White Man never had problems to use us for his agenda. As much as his spirit fights against the inevitable, the must come, to be ruled by the Black Man, he does not understand God`s will, nor history. History can never be stopped, only be delayed. What finally is supposed to happen, will happen. It is better for Whites to accept their place in real destiny of the world and make peace with it in their hearts. I am a proud Ghanaian and have trust on this special day that the time for Africa to rule has come. We all here are going to write history once more. `

Anna looked up to the horizon. The water was calm, no waves to be seen. Noise of children playing was around her. She directed her eyes to heaven. The sky was clear, no sign of any cloud. Taking a deep breath, she dropped the paper, sand covered it.

Behind hugh green plants it was possible to get a glance of the brick building built before end of World War Two. A long driveway up covered by a giant tree was the two story building finally visible to authorized persons only. Looking like a public school, the place in fact was an orphanage, a facility in Hamburg-Neugraben used also by parents unable to take care of their children for few weeks. Billy Moe, famous black musician, had his three children under the care of the mostly young, attractive female caretakers. As orphanage home rule the children had to clean the dishes in exchange for sweets. Each week ending the most eager child helping to run the place was rewarded with extra-large treat of sweets. Yet not all kids had developed the desire to be that special child. Anna, as a sweet mouth never able to be in opposition to treat herself with anything containing sugar, was an obvious exception and on the forefront to help in any way possible. During the day she, Irena and Alexa attended a nearby school. They knew it would not last for long and Monika Willers would come again to take them home to Alte Wöhr, the place of childhood, the place to be and grow up.

„You are here only for a few week before I take you back“, had Monika Willers told her daughters the day she had left them behind.

Alexa had gotten angry and cried: „ You are not my mother. You are not my mother! “

It had not been the first time Alexa had shouted her anger into her mother´s face. On several occasions did she make Monika Willers understand she was convinced not to be her child? As long as her mother would live, she constantly would hold her conviction close in her heart; eventually seven years before her unexpected death to stop any contact with her only showing up to organize the funeral along Irena.

Monika Willers had broken down in tears. Life had been hard and unfair to her a life-time. For years her children had been under strict supervision of the Social Security Authority that wanted to ensure the welfare of the three girls. Their father did not care for them at all. Monika Willers had been still a young woman and everyday forced to feed her children all alone. To meet ends means had been a struggle from months to months. Her own family had abandoned her, friends no were to be found. As a divorced woman in time of strict correct marriage by law and tradition, had been a heavy burden to her. No man with good character would have ever looked at her. As young woman she had longed to rest her head in the arms of a caring, strong man to assist her on the way forward.

„When I have delivered your sister“, Monika Willers had looked at them ready to walk through the big glass door with impressive wooden door frames, „ I will rush to you and we all will be together as a great, happy family again. “

….to be continued

Karl-Heinz Heerde
Karl-Heinz Heerde, © 2019

This author has authored 299 publications on Modern Ghana. Author column: KarlHeinzHeerde

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