Two Short Stories of Two Strong Men

I love stories.  Good stories have a lot of power if we open our minds and hearts to them.  People who think past the shallows love good stories with meaning and lessons that replicate real life.  In the last few days I have been exposed to two stories of two strong men.  One of the strong men I knew personally.  The other I did not.  One was a devout Christian.  The other was a devout Muslim and was briefly the leader of an African country when I was a very little girl.  These two strong men were my grandfather J.C. and the other was Ahmed Ben Bella.  My grandfather died in 1987, we believe at the age of 72.  He was never really sure of his birth date. My grandfather was a farmer and carpenter.  Ahmed Ben Bella died last week at age 93.  He helped in the liberation of his country, Algeria, from over a century of French colonial rule, and he was the first president of Algeria from 1963 to 1965 when he was overthrown.  He spent over 2 decades in prison, went into exile in Europe, and later came back to his homeland and functioned as an elder statesman.  He was respected not only in Arab but also in African countries as a freedom fighter and liberator.  

These two men both experienced discrimination.  My grandfather was biracial.  He was illiterate, but he knew how to survive.  Racial discrimination was a fully open and accepted way of life when he was growing up and into his adult years.  Ahmed Ben Bella saw discrimination at school from one of his teachers who was biased against the students because they were Muslim and Arab. One African I follow on Twitter said the other day that Ahmed Ben Bella had "more than nine lives."  He was the ultimate survivor.   

I've read some of the things that Ahmed Ben Bella said and like my granddad he was unafraid to speak the truth and stand up for what is right.  I remember my grandfather as a very quiet man who spoke slowly with a old fashioned black southern brogue.  He went to church regularly, and he and my grandmother both believed in helping others and providing hospitality to both blacks and whites.  Before I was born and my mother was a girl, my grandfather had a rebellious streak.  He did not tolerate being taken advantage of from his white employers.  Perhaps he got away with what he did because he looked more or less white.  My mother told me a story this weekend about an incident.  He had done work for some white people.  When it was time to eat, he was told they would give him a meal, but he would have to eat it outside.  Granddaddy responded audaciously that he had a kitchen, chairs, a table, and a wife who could cook him some food; he got in his car and left.  

Mom said they often worried that my granddad would get into serious trouble one day for speaking his mind, but he never did. It was the American South under Jim Crow, and he could have been attacked or killed for being blunt to white people.  By the time I knew my granddad he had mellowed.  But I understand more and more now the source of my own outspokenness, but mine has arrived later in life. My outspokenness comes from not only dad and sometimes even mom, but also my grandfather.  We are as proud as some Eastern peoples from ancient cultures, and we don't take humiliation and disrespect lightly.

A few days after Ahmed Ben Bella's death, I found an interview he'd done about twelve years ago for an Egyptian newspaper.   I was fascinated by the story of how he met his wife.  He was single when he had briefly been president.  He didn't marry until he was middle aged and was in prison.  Ahmed Ben Bella's mother was very concerned that he was still single.  He said in the interview that he had resigned himself to remaining unmarried because his life was devoted to the liberation struggle.  Later he was married, I read in another newspaper, by proxy.  A young female journalist who had visited him in jail decided she would marry him. They wed after seeing each other only three times.  It must have been love at first sight.  Yes, I'm still a romantic a heart, but I reside in a tough world, and I'm also a black woman in America, and at my age I have no illusions left... 

I thought it was so heartwarming the devotion of Ahmed Ben Bella's wife, joining her husband in prison.  There are very few people in this culture now who will stick by each other through thick and thin.  The few who still get married have eliminated the old phrases out of the marriage vows, and not much is left now. 

I read in another online paper in an obituary that Ahmed Ben Bella's wife was taken from the prison to have a baby in a hospital, but she miscarried.  When she was brought back to join her husband she had a day old abandoned infant girl with her.  Later the couple adopted a handicapped child.  I was really affected by the compassion of these two people taking two kids whom no one else probably wanted.  Ahmed Ben Bella said his daughter spent her first seven years in prison with him and his wife.  His wife was permitted to leave the prison to visit her family from time to time, but she was devoted to sharing his hardship and isolation with him. 

These two stories that I learned about in the last week are wonderful in their own ways. I wanted to tell them because I hope that whomever reads this will think.  I try to help people to think.  A good writer doesn't put down every little detail. There should be gaps, mysteries which make one wonder.  I ask questions to jar people's hearts sometimes.  I know many hate to think, but thinking and more than just thinking on a base level is important.  Deep thinking is very important.  Deep thinking leads to not only knowledge but also character, and it is never too late to increase knowledge and develop a good character.  

Even though my grandfather looked white, he identified fully with other blacks no matter what their hue was.  He always considered himself a black man.  He identified with the oppressed.  

I love these words of Ahmed Ben Bella which really state where his identity lay,  "I am Muslim first, Arab second and then Algerian. I am also proud to be an African."  

I too will always identify with the those who are strong in overcoming the perilous portions of life and the oppressed no matter where they are.   Since things will never be fully just in the country where I live,  I identify myself as an African. Africa was the first region (Turkey was second) where I first felt full acceptance and welcome, and I will always feel a gratefulness to Africans and an extreme fondness.