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Porter smiled, opening up his handsome butterscotch-toned face, and bowed at the waist. Then he turned his attention to Sam. “Baba, I did not know you’d be here today. Is there anything I need to prepare for you and your beautiful guest?”
Sam glanced at me before returning his attention to Porter. “No. Thank you.”
Porter gave another bow before leaving us, and I watched his retreating back in a black robe as he strode down a path I hadn’t noticed. Or maybe it wasn’t there before. I could almost feel our surroundings changing and shifting. Not in an alarming or unsettling way, but in a natural way. It was as if this place had its own rules and rhythm.
“Temple, I did not want to leave you. I did not mean to hurt you. The truth is, it was something I had to do.”
I didn’t respond. Hell, I didn’t know what to say.
“Ever since I was very young, my parents told me tales of our homeland and our people, our majesty. They told me mostly of Ethiopia, where they were born and raised. But like all Africans, whether here on the continent or in the diaspora, they descended from the people of this land. They didn’t know thator anything about this place at all until I was born, and what the ancestors shared with them then, they shared with me. I thought they were fables until I learned they weren’t.”
My eyes were glued to him as he spoke until he hesitated to acknowledge a lion. Yes, a whole-ass, big as shit, motherfucking lion had approached us, or really, it approached him, but shit! I was sitting right next to him! As if he could sense that I was about to climb over that bench and take off running into the forest because I wasn’t about to let the thing eat me, he laid a heavy hand on my knee as he used his other hand to rub the lion’s mane. Speaking in a language I did not understand, he said something to Mufasa that made his big ass roar loudly, which made me shout, “Motherfucker!”
The next thing I knew, I was in Sam’s lap, which actually brought me closer to Mufasa’s ass. See, I couldn’t think straight for shit!
Sam chuckled, wrapping his arms around me. “Temple, this is my friend, Burhaan. Burhaan, this is Temple; remember I told you about her?”
Burhaan’s eyes actually shifted to my face, and this dude stared at me before lowering his body in kind of a bow.
My confused eyes scurried to Sam’s face.
Smiling, he said, “He’s honored to meet you.”
“Yeah, uh…me too,” I muttered.
Laughing, he said something else to Burhaan in that foreign language, and the beast left, sauntering away like any king would, with his head held high.
Once I’d climbed out of Sam’s lap and my heart had returned to its regular rate, I asked, “What language is that?”
“It is the first language, now considered many African tongues in one. But we call it Asili, after our tribe.”
I nodded. “Sam…are we really here or is this a dream or am I high or something? It’s beautiful and peaceful, and it seems real. That lion appeared to be hella real, but I feel like I should pinch myself or something.”
“Pinch yourself and see.”
I hesitated before shaking my head. “If this is a dream, I’d rather not wake up from it. Not yet.”
His smile reappeared, dark lips framing startlingly white teeth, a vision I’d beheld long ago that still marveled me.
“The fables, or what you thought were fables…they were about here, this place?” I questioned.
“This place, the wonders of life…and my future—who I was and who I was destined to become.”
“Who are you other than Sampson Ibrahim?” The man who still owns my heart even though you broke it.
He stared at me, his intense dark eyes boring holes into mine. I didn’t, couldn’t look away. I matched his unblinking gaze until he dropped his eyes. Then he stood and stooped over, lifting to an erect posture, holding a jagged rock. He kneeled before me, one big mitt of a hand resting on my lap for a moment before he sighed deeply, flipping his hand so that it was palm-up on my lap.
“Watch. No words. Just watch. Okay?” he said, pleading evident in his voice.
With a slight frown, I nodded. “Okay.” But, honestly, he was scaring the hell out of me.
Nevertheless, my eyes were glued to my lap and his hand as he took the rock he held and slid it across his palm, slicing it open. I gasped, my eyes jumping up to meet his.
Shaking his head, he implored, “Watch.”
So, I did. I watched as blood oozed from the cut, making me queasy; and then, after not more than a minute had passed, I watched the cut seal itself shut. No more bleeding.
My eyes met his again as he wiped the residual blood away with his fingers and said, “This is who I am.”
