Carpetbaggers and Neer do wells

By: Solomon Vincent

Solomon Vincent

In a Search for the Truth

The young man stood completely erect. He was very tall and had broad shoulders. He could have passed for a small giant. He stared longingly into the horizon, past the white sails of the ships billowing in the wind. The ships were all anchored at the docks in Savannah or were on the ocean waiting to dock.

He breathed in deeply, savoring the salty sweet aroma of the ocean mist. The instant felt like an eternity. He exhaled unhurriedly as if trying to cling on to the fragrance of the bouquet of the ocean mist as if it was life itself.

The youthful man pondered the intricate mysteries of his existence in all its elusions. Oh, how he loved his Najsla. She was the core of his being. They had danced and feasted during the Harvest ceremonial the night before. The Great One in the sky was showing favor that year for hunting, fishing, and planting.

The crops were bountiful and the women were busy drying and storing the crops for leaner times. The younger boys were finding very large catches of fish at the local fishing holes. He himself had killed two large animals for food in the moon cycle. The skins from the animals for food of his last hunt were just about dried. He had given one to the oldest woman in the village. She was considered the mother of all the villagers and everyone in the village took care of her. The other skin, he had given to his best friend from childhood, Mwang. Mwang was betrothed to a girl from the next village. The skin would be part of his wedding gift and would be very welcomed for the young couple just starting out. He had also hunted and killed a preying animal that had cause fright among the villagers. The animal had been skinned and the fur was given to the village Chief who was also the guardian of the village. The massive mane and the entire skin hung above the Chief’s throne.

In the early hours of the morning dawn, he laid awake planning his next hunt. Najsla laid beside him breathing softly in blissful sleep. She was elegantly tall, taller than most men. Her walk was very graceful and was as if she glided. She also had a very disarming smile. All it took was one look into his eyes from Najsla and he would always crumble, a big hunter and warrior that he was. The kids all loved her dearly and always followed her around the village. All the older women wished that she was their daughter. And, his Ma only boasted about her daughter-in-law, never about her son. Long ago, Najsla had decided that their hut should be next to her mother-in-law’s hut and it had been so. He felt a sharp pang in his heart and the ache tore at his soul. Oh how he missed her so…

As he had lain there in the darkness planning the next hunt, he reflected back to the times when he had scouted the various hunting grounds during his last hunt. Remembering, he had gone back several times to scout the various lucrative hunting grounds. He had tracked several herds that were quite large with many full grown bucks. The antlers on the bucks showed them to be very mature and that meant that the herd would multiply easily. He had settled on his prize. The next skins from his impending hunt would go to the two young maidens in the village who were of marrying age. The skins would make part of their dowry. He and Najsla didn’t need any skins or fur because he had always provided for them. With the cover of the Great One, his hunt would not last more than a few days.

In the cool of the dawn, Najsla snuggled closer to him. His heart leaped several beats remembering the warmth of her skin. If he had to come back soon, he thought, he’d better get up and be on his way. He brushed his lips lightly on the top of her slightly ruffled head of hair and unwrapped himself of his beloved. He quickly gathered his provisions. His hunting knife had been prepared days before and was in it’s sheathe. He had taken care to sharpen it and make sure that it was well binded and sturdy; He wrapped his bed bundle of soft skins and placed it in his sack. He double checked his provisions to be sure of his supply of animal urine which he used over his skin to camouflage his human scent.

Slowly, the young man focus changed to where he was in the present. He staggered briefly and stood erect again. His entire body was on fire. All the while, he was thinking about his Najsla, he was being beaten with a whip. He had refused to work in the fields like an animal. The farm foreman had given the orders for him to be tied and beaten. He had fought wildly not to be tied and would not relent. Under threat of death, he had stood up to take the beating. He had not flinched even as the white farm hand man administering the whips was sweating profusely. The plantation master had seen the entire ordeal and had stepped in and stopped the beating.

The young man staggered again. This time he opened his eyes and looked around. He was back on the plantation where he was sold after being captured while hunting and brought to this gawd-forsaken place on the boats. The ordeal of his capture itself had been horrifying. The recollections all came flooding back to the young man with the stench of death and dying and decay.

Some of the slave men came towards him and half carried and half helped him to the slave cabins. The women bathed him and nursed his wounds. They covered the skin where the lashes tore with a soothing, cooling balm. One of the women raised his head which was pounding of pain and gave him a hot liquid. She held the cup to his lips allowing him only to sip slowly. He tasted the bite of the liquid and drifted gradually into an idyllic slumber. As he slowly drifted, he could hear the chatter of the women… their voices hushed… he heard Najsla say his name..

Leah shouted at me: what are you doing? It’s been a long trip already. This Savannah is very hot. I suddenly looked around. I must have stepped on hallow ground. I steadily began to regain my focus and awareness of where I was. We had flown into the Savannah/Hilton Head airport from the city of Atlanta and had just arrived at one of the Plantations in the outlying areas of Savannah. Leah looked at me and asked, are you ok? You are sweating profusely and a few minutes ago you looked like you had seen a ghost. It must be the sweltering heat, I said.

Months earlier, I would not have even dreamed about coming to Savannah in the middle of the summer.

It had begun on a breezy and mild spring day. The deciduous azaleas were in full bloom in an array from white to pink, and from yellow to orange to red assorted colors in the garden. After a longer than usual winter and drought from earlier years, spring was a welcomed sight. With the beautiful flowers of spring came the pollen. And, then we had to deal with the greenish-yellowish powder all over everything. Such are the contradictions of Atlanta.

On this bright afternoon, I sat there contemplating the call that I was about to make. Not to waste any more time, I dialed. A lady answered, “Hello, Wallace residence, May I help you?” I replied, “Hello, my name is Solomon Vincent, may I speak with Mr. Lorenzo Wallace, please.” After a brief pause, he came on the phone and stated, “Hello, this is Lorenzo.”

I had rehearsed this moment over and over, word for word in my mind what I was going to say, but at that moment I couldn’t remember a single line. I started to speak with my voice coming out muffled and gruff. I struggled to compose myself. “Hello, my name is Solomon Vincent, and I am doing research on the Wallace family from Georgia that went to Liberia, West Africa, in the 1800’s. We are also researching the link the families that left and those that are still here.” He stated that he didn’t know how much help he could be but that his family came from Egypt, Georgia, near Savannah. I started to breathe slowing and the conversation flowed. He went on further to say that his father was a doctor, but had died at an early age – in his forties. I stated that we were also trying to find out if the families had ever had contact or relationships. He seemed to exhibit interest by the receptive tone of his voice.

Lorenzo hinted that I would get a lot more information if I went down to Egypt, Georgia. He explained that Savannah was a major trading harbor during the times of slave trading. The plantations in and around Savannah were all historical monuments that had been kept in pristine conditions and looked as if frozen in time. Complete with slave quarters and southern mansions, with the tall pillars, typical of the architecture during that era. The conversation with Lorenzo went rather well, it went better than I expected. I asked him if I could visit with him again to sit and talk and learn a little more about his background. He agreed.

I arrived at Lorenzo Wallace residence on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I had arrived a little early and took advantage of the time to meditate for a few minutes. I had fortunately escaped the brunt of the brutal Atlanta traffic to get to this part of town on game day. I walked up and rang the doorbell. An elegantly dressed lady opened the door and greeted me. Hello, Solomon. How are you? Did you have trouble finding the place? No, I said the drive and directions were fine. She ushered me into to study area and said Lorenzo is expecting you.

Lorenzo greeted and offered me a chair, we sat down. Lorenzo had turn 90 years old and had recently retired from the Georgia State Senate as the sergeant-at-arms after twenty-three years. Oh well, so much for Sam Jackson railing against Ambassador George Wallace all the time about being old and still working. The lady brought us some Southern ice tea in a pitcher and left.

Lorenzo Wallace, Sr. and I talked a bit more and I asked about his work at the State of Georgia Senate Chambers. I was being entwined in his responses to the many questions that I posed and other additional interesting facts and we talked further. He seemed interested in the developments in Liberia. We talked about the Liberia movement and the dream of families to get the then promise land.

We talked about the University of Liberia previously known as Liberia College. We spoke about the benefactor of the Liberia College. About how the benefactor had lost all his investments in the crash of 1933, and how his one successful investment was the University of Liberia. We talked about how when the benefactor was being sought to be honored by the government of Liberia, he was found penniless and a recluse.

I left the conversation with Lorenzo equally elated that I have learned so much in one short afternoon. The desire of Man to brave any situation and circumstance to pursue life, liberty and freedom is indeed a right endowed by the Creator. It is evident in the plight of a race of people to find that utopia after suffering the most horrible injustices known to man. This yearning fermented and spread all over Africa and did not stop until all of Africa was liberated and sovereign. This similar desire has birthed the quest for the economic freedom of Africa.