There is a rubric that I find yields great results:
1. Feel for the rumble of a particular timbre in the air
2. Go there.
My body has by now committed to reflex the feeling of a nearby djembe or surdo, such that I often find myself walking towards drums before I even realize I’m doing so. Karen and I were between Jupiter and Saturn when I noticed the heartbeat. There were, in fact, a pandeiro and surdo echoing down the circular center of Jupiter, a strikingly-designed multi-story building.
But on its first level we were ensnared by the lure of African prints: wax-cloth-upholstered chairs, mudcloth fashion. A young Senegalese man came over from another booth to assist; his name was Mbaye. He looked as if he hadn’t had the wherewithal to properly care for himself; his hair was a little disheveled, and he was wearing sweatpants and flip-flops.
Following my drum rubric, I asked him: where did people play djembe in Hamburg, did he know? He responded professionally, but with an undertone of caution; he was new here, and no, he did not. But there was some sort of festival the next weekend, and he knew someone who knew the details. My mother, he said; let me call her on WhatsApp. A woman responded, with a reserve that echoed Mbaye’s in her surprisingly American-sounding accent. Yes, there is an African music festival next weekend, she said; please come.
That is your mother? I asked, when he hung up. Is she also from Senegal?
Mbaye told me she was Liberian-Nigerian. She’s not my real mother, but she’s like my mother here in Hamburg, he said. She looks out for a lot of Africans who recently arrived.
We inquired further about his story. It turned out he was one of the numerous African students studying in Ukraine who had to flee when the war started, for their safety. The displacement had left him adrift. I am an engineering student, he said, and my plan had been to come to Germany to study after my first degree. But the German government has not been welcoming. They told us to go back to our home countries, even though I had planned to be here. So now I’m waiting for them to decide. I think I am going to have to train to work in technology instead.
They don’t want us to grow into a superpower like China did, he told us. Europe and America want to keep the wealth for themselves. They want to keep us down.
Karen bought some beautifully-patterned fabric, and we finally made our way up to the roof (where there was, in fact, a large coterie of Brazilians singing and dancing along to pagode and samba).
When we returned home to the quiet suburbs, it dawned on me (due to reading I’m doing on global propaganda campaigns) that the presence of China in his claim was striking. It might indicate the Chinese government is supporting that narrative itself, as it makes inroads in Africa, supporting development of infrastructure. But really—particularly in light of American and European treatment of Senegal, of Haiti, of every African, Caribbean, and Latin American country—is that narrative even wrong?