Post by Amani Mshambuliaji on Dec 27, 2018 10:43:02 GMT -8
I welcome with my hands
And the red sun sinks at last
Into the hills of gold
And peace to this young warrior
Without the sound of guns
"Ghetto Gospel" by Tupac ft. Elton John
And the red sun sinks at last
Into the hills of gold
And peace to this young warrior
Without the sound of guns
"Ghetto Gospel" by Tupac ft. Elton John
---
"Every day. Every fuckin' day. That's how often I think about my brother. Think about the bullshit that went down outside of B-more. Think about how those shells rang out, clap-clap-clap, and about how Hali's older brother couldn't protect him. Some of you motherfuckers prob'ly know who I am, most of you prob'ly don't. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Amani Mshambuliaji. I found my way into Baltimore through my mom. She smuggled my brother and I outta Kenya when I was ten and he was seven. Hali was his name. Notice I said was? Well, we'll get to that."
The streets are slick, with water or blood we cannot tell. The wind is cold, from the winter or because it blows across the Atlantic we cannot tell. The world is dark, because of nighttime or because of mourning we cannot tell. This is the way of Baltimore. Every street seems a morose picture, a still of a world of violence and death existing outside of the normal hustle-and-bustle of every day life. The smell of rotting fish fills every nostril, invades every home. It is here we find our hero. It is here we see his downfall.
A car pulls along the road, taking a turn into a parking lot. It's obvious the driver doesn't care about the road, doesn't care about the rules, as they take a hard turn without even slowing down. Luckily for them, no one is behind them to catch what would obviously be suspicious activity: a white Jeep Cherokee pulling into a warehouse parking lot in the middle of the night, no blinkers, music thumping, taking the turn so fast that the SUV might topple over. Yet, what is lucky for some is unlucky for others. Someone said God protects fools and drunks, but there is no God in this parking lot.
"I had been workin' out early in the day, trainin' for my first real fight in Baltimore. Mom always told Hali and me to find something, anything, to get us off the streets. This may not be Africa, she said, but there's plenty of warlords here. Mom always had a soft spot for Hali, knowing he was too dumb to protect himself but at the same time bursting with potential that he might one day live up the American Dream. Make all of this bullshit worth it. The thing about potential is that, no matter how hard you might try to nurture that shit, let it bloom like some flowers, any sort of weedkiller can come along and burn that shit to the ground."
The aforementioned white Jeep parks, cutting the engine and the lights inside of it. Silence fills the lot, the same silence that settles over a cemetery at night. Another car engine revs up, somewhere near by, with lights spilling out onto the lot. A car had been deep in the shadows waiting for the Jeep to arrive. It pulls up across from the Jeep and cuts its lights. A driver steps out, we can't see who he is. The door to the Jeep opens up. Hali Mshambuliaji steps out, a backwards Ray Lewis jersey on along with a forward facing flatbill Ravens hat. He and the driver exchange pleasantries, a few sentences of small talk.
After a break in the conversation, the driver of the small car makes a few motions with his hands indicating an exchange. Hali nods, then steps back to the Jeep, opening the door, and getting out what the police would later assume is a large quantity of bills. The young Kenyan took one last look at the band of bills in his hand, then stepped back towards the small car. That's when the first shot rang out, then the next, then the next. Hali staggered backwards, holding his stomach in surprise. The other driver snatched up the money, got back into his car, and accelerated out of the parking lot. There, alone, Hali died.
"The last text I sent to Hali told him I was busy. He said he had somethin' important to do, and he wanted me on standby just in case. I told him I was busy. Training. Shit. I didn't notice that I had dozens of missed calls until I got out of the shower and back to my locker at the gym. A bunch from my mom and some from numbers I didn't recognize. I called my mom back as soon as I saw. No answer. I called again. She picked up, crying. That's how this big brother found out his later brother had been murdered on the fucking streets of Baltimore, not six blocks from where I was working out."
"They asked me why I'm coming here, to Elysium. They asked me what I hope to gain from this experience. This is it. This is all I have left. For motherfuckers like me, motherfuckers that let their family die in cold blood, there ain't no escape. If I didn't keep training, if I didn't keep pushing myself, then I would be the same as Hali... Dead in the fucking streets. Hell, the shots might have came from my self with the gat in my mouth. Elysium. The final resting place of the dead. I'm here because I need closure. I'm here because I don't want to end up like my Mom, an open bottle in her hand, the TV on a dead station, and an empty bottle of Percs on the floor. I'm here because I have nothing to lose."
