On March 30, 2016, we visited the African Burial Ground. It took about an hour to get there from Brooklyn College, but it was simple; I took the 5 train from Flatbush Avenue to Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall. The walk from City Hall to the African Burial Ground was pleasurable and inspiring. As I exited the train station at City Hall, I saw many scholarly people walking around. The vicinity of the City Hall station covers about a two block radius, and it overlooks the Brooklyn Bridge so it was a beautiful sight. I immediately recalled the last time I stepped out of that station last year when I was heading to my High School Mock Trial competition in the Federal Court a few blocks away from the train station with my teammates. This time, I was heading towards another competition, the competition of ethnicities. As I crossed the block to get on to the main road, I heard Arabic music coming from a Halal meat stand. I started singing along to the music in my head because I speak Arabic fluently and could relate to the Arabic lifestyle. I was totally thrown off by the music since the entire neighborhood was surrounded by erudite Americans. I turned around and saw another stand selling burgers and many people were on line waiting for their food from that stand. The Halal meat stand didn’t have as many customers, yet the cashier was having the time of his life dancing and singing to the music he was playing on his speakers. This separation between the Arabic and American cultures and lifestyles inspired me to think optimistically about the various traditional backgrounds people have and how they collectively create a unified nation within a confined space.

I continued my walk through the park surrounded by many trees. It was a sunny day of around 55 degrees and the air smelled fresh after the meat smell from the smokes of the meat stands. Towards the end of the park, old adults and seniors were playing chess on the chess tables, which adds on to the scholarly perimeter. I arrived at 290 Broadway where a guard opened the gold door for me to enter. I went through security which comprised of two kind men securing the entire building in which I was informed was a federal building. I joined my classmates and waited for further instructions from our wonderful Professor Williams and Alexis Carrozza, our ITF instructor. We were left to roam the building by ourselves. My initial reaction to the first view I had was “Are those people real?” Yes, I was confused by the three African mannequins standing in the center of the complex. To test my inclinations, I immaturely approached the mannequins and touched their hands. After receiving no response, I understood the Africans standing still in the center were not real. The interior was small but contained many sources and accounts of African American slavery and its maltreatment on the slaves.

I first came upon a cite that described the monument that was made for the African slaves. The passage said “You are standing where thousands of Africans buried their loved ones during the 1600s and 1700s…their spirits have guided the rediscovery of this part of New York’s history.” This quote struck me; I almost felt like I was the perpetrator and the cause for the poor and innocent Africans’ deaths. The rest of the cites contained graphic imagery of the toil and suffering these African slaves had. One quote by John Jea stated, “Our labor was extremely hard…The horses usually rested about five hours in the day, while we were at work; thus did the beasts enjoy greater privileges than we did.” Guilt, sorrow, sympathy, and morbidity were thoughts that rushed through my mind throughout the entire visit. While we were brought up with a pacifier in our mouths in a time of lovely freedom, these Africans were brought up with a hammer and sickle in a time of brutal oppression and slavery. I continued my visit to the monument outside where the Africans were buried. There were many African signs on the walls of the spherical complex. As I descended down the circle ramps, I felt I was descending to the Africans’ levels while going through a series of peaceful changes induced by the signs on the walls. At the end of the ramp, a tall triangle fixture stood with a hollow entrance through it. Looking through that hollow entrance gave me a feeling of lament towards the African slaves and their suffering. Ultimately, the monument and memorial inspired me to appreciate what I have going on in my life and not complain about the problems that I have while others are suffering about their extreme problems in life, such as disease and death.

Hard work

Hope and Despair

A prediction of how much one ride will cost Americans in the future: $3.10. God help us all!