I know you were worried about my traveling to a foreign country. All that worrying was unnecessary. Amsterdam is extra distant. The city's clean and real safe. I also met some new friends. I can imagine your faces - STRANGERS! Don't worry though, they're black.
Hugs and Kisses,
Jessi
Whoa. I left a lot out of that postcard. I felt sneaky, but there are just some things you can't tell your parents. Especially when you're eleven and black.
Did that shock you? That I'm black, I mean. You probably didn't realize. Don't worry, a lot of people are insensitive like that. Lately, my friends have been extremely insensitive. In particular, my so-called best friend, Mallory Pike. Sometimes, it's like they forget that I'm black. They act like it's no big deal or something. Like I said, insensitive.
This insensitivity really came to light on Sunday when Mary Anne, Mallory, Anna, Tiffany, and I went sightseeing. Mary Anne suggested we take a bus tour of Amsterdam, so we could see the entire city before focusing on certain areas. We joined a tour group at the bus station. It was one of those double decker buses like they have in England. The bus driver was a Spaniard named Flavio, who spoke no English. We rode on the upper deck with the tour guide.
Our tour guide introduced himself as Georg Gegenhuber from Austria. Georg was fifteen and spoke with a light German accent. It was obvious right away that he had a thing for Mary Anne. He was as impressed with her guidebook knowledge as we were annoyed with it. Frankly, I thought Georg was kind of a geek and more Mallory's type. He even sort of looked like Ben Hobart. My ex-sort-of boyfriend, a black ballet dancer named Quint was much cuter. I called him my yummy dancing chocolate drop.
Every time Georg smiled at or spoke to Mary Anne, Mallory, Anna, and Tiffany would nudge each other and say, "ooooh, Mary Aaaaane..." I didn't join in because I was really ticked off. Here's what happened:
Georg introduced himself at the start of the tour. When he told us he was originally from Austria, Tiffany whispered to Anna, "Where's Austria?"
Anna replied, "South of Germany and the Czech Republic."
"Arnold Schwarzenegger's from Austria," said Mary Anne. She raised her voice. "My boyfriend, Logan, loves Arnold Schwarzenegger. Logan will probably be Mr. Olympia someday, too."
Anna gave Mary Anne a funny look and said, "Austria's also the homeland of Adolf Hitler."
"Whoa, how'd you know that, Anna?" asked Mallory.
"I read a lot about the second World War. I am Jewish,"
Mallory blushed. "Oh, sorry, Anna! I forgot!"
"There's nothing to be sorry about," replied Anna.
From then on, whenever Georg pointed out a house a Jewish family hid in during the war or talked about the Holocaust, Mallory fretted over Anna's feelings. She was convinced that at any moment Anna would become hysterical. That made me Mad. Never had Mallory shown concern for my blackness and the plight of my people. Mallory didn't really even know Anna. Plus, no one can look at Anna and tell she's Jewish. Anyone can look at me and instantly know I'm black. So, what did Anna have to be so concerned and upset about? Being Jewish is way easier than being black.
I called Mallory on her insensitivity as soon as we returned to Verbruggenhuis. And, you know what? She denied everything. She acted as if she had no clue what I was talking about. I declared her my ex-best friend right then and there. I refused to sit with her at De Twee Grieken. She didn't care at all! She was too busy hiding behind her menu and ducking under the table. Back at Verbruggenhuis, I refused to play horses with her. She played with Tiffany instead.
So, I said, goodbye and good riddance, Mallory Pike!
That brings me to Monday, the day I wrote the postcard to my parents. After breakfast, everyone scattered. Mary Anne and Mallory took Maria and Amanda to see some four hundred year old church. Stacey and Dawn disappeared without a word. Claudia and Anna went to a museum and coffee shop (even I know that "coffee shop" means "hash cafe". I think Anna knew it, too). Kristy and Abby mentioned something about "conditioning". Shannon and Tiffany planned to go to the flea market Claudia raved about. Alan and Greer were discussing the red-light district, so they probably ended up there.
Me, I took off on my own. I needed some time alone. I wandered along the Leliegracht until I ended up at a corner cafe. That's where I saw him. The most gorgeous boy in the world.
He was black (like me) with muscles and a huge grin. I figured he was about fourteen. He wore cut-off jean shorts and a white mesh wife-beater and no shoes. He was perfection. Except for one thing: dreadlocks. Thick, long, ratted dreadlocks. A Rastafarian. My parents disapprove of such people. Aunt Cecelia calls them "the armpit of decent society" and says they don't bathe and have lice, roaches, and spiders living in their hair.
He was seated on the outdoor patio with two other Rastafarian boys. They had on those black, red, and green knitted berets that Rastafarians often wear. Neither boy was nearly as handsome as the first boy. I desperately wanted to meet him, but I'm not very experienced with boys. If only Stacey were there! She's very experienced. And sophisticated.
Luckily, my many years of ballet have provided me with great poise. I took a deep breath and marched right up to his table. "Hello," I said, confidently.
All three boys looked at me. My guy smiled widely. "Ah, hallo, lil sistren," he replied. He extended his hand, slapped his palm against mine, then shook it. "How ah you dis mornin'?"
"Fine," I squeaked, confidence fading. "And you?"
"All fruits ripe," he answered with a giant grin.
I guess that was good.
"Tek ah seat, lil sistren. You 'mongst bredren. I and I all chidren of Jah,"
He lost me at "tek a seat", but that didn't matter. I sat down as quick as possible.
"My name's Jessica," I introduced myself. It was much more mature than "Jessi". I didn't want him to know I was only eleven! "I'm visiting Amsterdam with some friends."
"I am Mosiah. Dis is Judah, my bredda. I and I come fram Jamaica. An' dis is Teak. He come fram down da street,"
"Hello, hello," I replied, nervously. "Not to be rude, but what does 'I and I' mean?"
Mosiah laughed. "Rastas say 'I and I' instead of 'you and I' or 'we'. It implies no one is greater than some other an' unites us under da love of Jah,"
"Jah?"
"God," said Judah.
I felt totally clueless. I also felt out of place, but Mosiah and his friends were fascinating.
"Who is this?"
I looked up and saw a girl standing by the table. She wore a pair of dark brown clogs and an ankle-length silver floral-print dress. Her dishwater blonde hair was in long, thin dreads. Get this - she was white.
"Ah, Heather!" Mosiah greeted her with a hug, as did Judah and Teak. "Dis is Jessica. She is also fram da United States,"
"Hey there, sistren," Heather high-fived me. "I'm from Iowa. How about you?"
"Connecticut. Originally from New Jersey," Oh no! Could Heather be Mosiah's girlfriend? She's white! But, none of the boys acted lovey-dovey with her. Maybe, she was just their friend. I didn't want to miss a chance with Mosiah!
Heather sat down and started an animated conversation with Mosiah about how they each came to Amsterdam and met. Heather and her mom moved to Amsterdam five years ago. Her mom used to be a corporate attorney until she saw the realities and consequences of materialistic white society. She and Heather relocated to the Dutch Caribbean, where her mom met her lifemate, Egbert. Now, they own a coffee shop calledRasta Fantasy. Mosiah and Judah lived in Jamaica until last summer. Their grandmother, who raised them, died. So, they came to Amsterdam to live with their father and his new family. Mosiah and Judah met Heather soon after. Heather's sort-of stepdad, Egbert, kept throwing them out of the coffee shop. Finally, he assigned Heather to keep an eye on them. They've been friends ever since!
I wish the stories of how I met my friends were as interesting. But they aren't.
I learned a few things about Mosiah. Like Heather and Teak, Mosiah is fourteen. (Judah is thirteen). Also, Mosiah is a vegetarian. Except, he eats small fish. The best part though - Mosiah doesn't have a girlfriend!
Mosiah and his friends taught me a lot about Rastafarianism. For example, did you know that black, red, and green are symbolic colors for Rastafarians? Black represents the color of Africans, red represents the blood shed by Rastafarians during their struggle for liberation, and green represents Ethiopia, the promised land. Also, Rastafarians aren't allowed to drink alcohol, coffee, milk, or soft drinks. Nor can they eat scavengers like pigs, shrimp, or crabs. That's why many Rastafarians are vegetarians. Dawn would probably like Rastafarians, but I doubt they'd like her.
"You know," said Heather. "Jessica would look radical with dreadlocks!"
"Ya, mon!" agreed Judah and Teak.
"How 'bout it? What do you say?" grinned Mosiah.
No way! That's what I say!
"We can do it at my house," said Heather. "I'll backcomb it. It's a completely natural way. It'll only take a few hours,"
"Uh, I don't know..."
"Dun know?" repeated Mosiah. "All look betta wit dreadlocks. Day bring all closer to Jah. Day is ah natural beauty, mos def,"
"My parents wouldn't like it," I told him.
"Mudda an' Fadda 'ave been too influenced by Babylon," Mosiah replied. Babylon is the corrupt white patriarchy that has oppressed the black race through poverty and slavery. "Day muss see da troot through da dreads. It is how you meant to be, Jessica,"
I bit my thumbnail. Would Mama and Daddy realize the power of the dreads? I felt deep in my soul that Mosiah spoke the truth. Our hair was meant to dread. Babylon had stripped us of our natural beauty by convincing us that dreads are unnatural and unclean. I knew my parents wouldn't understand. I knew the Baby-Sitters Club wouldn't understand. I didn't care. I knew what I had to do.
It was time to get in touch with my black self.
"Okay," I said with a deep breath. "Let's do it. Let's dread my hair,"
No longer would I simply be Jessica Ramsey: Babysitter or Jessica Ramsey: Black Ballerina. Instead, I would become someone new -
Jessica Ramsey: Rastafarian.