WHERE EVERYTHING STARTED
The cab had been quiet for a while now. Daniel obviously avoided asking me details about my family, much to my relief. The wound was still fresh and open and he must have felt that. Instead, Daniel continued pouring Chivas into a plastic cup and drinking. The two o'clock late night news was on, but there was nothing special, just the usual boring international politics. Arafat and Perez were in dispute about the place for peace process negotiations. Belarus strongman Lukashenko declared election victory in yet another election with a questionable level of democratic processes and freedom of media…
"Where are you from, mister?"
"Bosnia."
"Really?" Daniel sounded pleasantly surprised. "I've been there before and during the war. It's an interesting country."
"Is it?"
"Well, not that exotic, being in Europe, but you have nice mountain views. I went there for the Winter Olympics in... What year was that… 1980?"
"1984," I confirmed.
"That's right, I remember now. I came directly from Angola, and it was freezing cold and everything was covered with a meter of snow."
"That's what you need for Winter Olympics," I said ironically. "I did go to Angola too."
"Vraiment? Comment est-ce possible? " Daniel instantly switched to French.
"Sorry but I don't speak French."
"How come?" Daniel was surprised.
"They spoke Portuguese in Angola, as I am sure you know, but even my Portuguese was not that good. I was just mechanic. Good with fixing engines, but terrible with languages."
"A mechanic in Africa?"
"Lot of Yugoslav companies used to work all over Africa in eighties. I was working for Genex. They were working on infrastructure development, building construction business and oil exploration…"
"…And arms dealing."
"I did not know about that," I replied.
"Of course you didn't." Daniel was patronizing again. "We made quite a mess there, didn't we?" Daniel said sadly.
I couldn't grasp what Daniel was trying to tell me. I was beginning to worry that I would have to spend the next five hours with a drunken man.
Daniel continued. "We are all arrogant bustards. Not just the French, but all white people."
"Don't put me in the same pot, sir."
"No, I am serious. We are always talking about Greece being the first civilization, forgetting about what was going on in Babylon, but more importantly we forget that the first man and woman were born in Africa. Did you know that? Somewhere in Ethiopia. That means that Adam and Eve were black."
"Interesting theory," I responded, happy that the old man hadn't completely lost his mind and that I was still able to understand him.
"It's a scientific fact, especially now with all that DNA analysis. But if Adam and Eve were black, and God created man based on his own appearance, it prompts me to conclude that God is probably black too!" I smiled as it was quite a cute thought. But that does not mean that I believe in God or anything. As far as I was concerned, Daniel could have said that God is green and I still wouldn't have cared.
Daniel continued. "Bobby Kennedy was right when he asked what if one day when we go to Heaven, if we get there at all, we realize that God is black. And maybe the Devil is white. I'm sure that the Devil is white."
Although I was listening intently at first, I was quickly losing attention. All this talk about God was starting to sound like gibberish to me. Nevertheless, I could relate to what Daniel said about the arrogance of white people as I myself had witnessed in Angola. After the fascist regime of President Salazar collapsed, the otherwise friendly and humble Portuguese, who stayed in their former colony, started venting their anger on the locals. My pals and I were shocked to learn of their racism, since black Africans were always loved in Yugoslavia and were treated like our brothers from the Non-Aligned Movement, initiated by Presidents Tito, Nehru, Nasser and Sukarno. Sadly, it didn't take me long to become one of them.
When I came to America, I started referring to minorities as Niggers, Apu Indians and Latinos as though they were inferior. I became one of those white racists I met in Angola. Then it occurred to me, you actually had to have a sufficient number of people of another race around you in order to be able to hate them. It was so easy. That was how it worked in Bosnia too. But I have since cured myself of racism once I understood that as a Serb in America I, too, was often treated as a Nigger. The only difference was that I had to have said something before they would label me, but the blacks would be marked instantly just based on their appearance. After having seen firsthand the living condition that African-Americans had to endure I began to understand and sympathize with them even more. Even after they robbed me several times.
I was really surprised. This was the first time I had ever managed to get my thoughts off of Linda. Whatever this old guy was doing, it helped. However, with that realization, my thoughts immediately switched back to Linda and my eyes once again glued on the rearview. There weren't many lights behind. Then Daniel interrupted again.
"I know that you were messing things up as well in Africa..."
"Me?" I was puzzled now.
"Yugoslavians. But it's nothing in comparison to what the French did in Algeria, or the Portuguese in Angola or what the Americans and Belgians have done in the Congo. Oh mon dieu, I just realized, you were in both Angola and Sarajevo. You were lucky."
"What do you mean?" Daniel was starting to lose the plot.
"Have you ever heard of the Jewish curse, to wish somebody to live in interesting times? Interesting usually means a revolution. You, my friend, have lived through interesting historical periods in not one, but two countries. And that's amazing."
"I wasn't involved in the war in Angola," I interrupted Daniel.
"But you were there during the war."
"Yes, while it was still just sporadic fights."
"Didn't you know that they were about to have a big civil war in Angola?" Daniel asked.
"Yes, I could sense that."
"What about Sarajevo? Did you sense it too, especially after your experience in Angola?
"We hoped it wouldn't happen," I said sadly.
"It is only natural to hope. But I am sure you knew it was bound to happen."
"We all knew we were living in powder barrel. We just hoped it wouldn't explode."
"…But it did. The war in Bosnia was inevitable."
