During winter break, I attended a thoroughly fascinating lecture on the African Presence in Early Asia, by historian Runoko Rashidi at Howard University with a UMBC friend. After the lecture, we mulled over where to have dinner. Options were somewhat limited by the fact that it was late and a weeknight. I am partial to African cuisine, and thought immediately of Dukem, an Ethiopian establishment on U Street nearby. Ethiopian troops were in Somalia, and my politically conscious friend and I did some soul-searching before deciding it was okay to visit the Ethiopian restaurant given the late hour.
On my last visit, I'd thought Dukem rather mediocre (in comparison with other Ethiopian spots around town). This time, however, was different. The place was bursting with African rhythms. Our server, a young woman with beautiful dark skin, aquiline nose, and thick lips, in traditional Ethiopian garb, reminded me of Cheikh Anta Diop's writing on the incredible diversity of native African features prior to Asiatic and European invasions. I glanced at my friend. A musician himself, he appeared immersed in the music. Four stunningly beautiful Ethiopian women in traditional garb--flowing white dress, accented with colorful red, green, and black sash--swayed to the reverberations of a drum, in a graceful, perfectly choreographed classical Ethiopian dance. At times, they were accompanied by a male dancer. I marveled at their movements, as graceful and coordinated as the dance of swans I'd seen on the bay near my house.
The food arrived--my perfectly prepared spicy doro wat, one of my favorite Ethiopian dishes, and my friend's spicy spinach entreé, both with spongy ingera bread. We ate with our hands from one huge round plate, an African tradition common to Afghan, Arab, and other Third World cultures, which I believe leads to harambee in these communities.
The night was perfect--almost. Shortly after the dance started, a white woman in a tight sweater, mini-skirt, and boots rose to her feet at the next table. Making moronic sounds and gestures, she poorly mimicked the dancers' every move. After a while, she abandonned any semblance of accuracy, and simply started shaking her volumptuous body. Then she progressed to grabbing at her own mammary glands, while shaking her buttocks. Earlier, I'd noticed that nearly all the restaurant patrons were Ethiopian or African. Now they stared at her, some with contempt, some with anger or pity. They were either too polite or too shocked to tell her to shut up and sit down. The security personnel had evaporated into the woodwork.
"It's a free country, and it's her right to demonstrate what a moron she really is," I thought to myself. The problem was that she was directly in my line of sight to the dancers, and instead of enjoying the performance, I was forced to watch her vulgar flailings. Elevated testosterone, the price of female athleticism, surged through my body, and I willed myself not to re-seat the b----. "Now you know understand where the term 'Ugly American comes from,'" I remarked loudly to my friend.
The woman looked over at me for a moment, then continued to gyrate at her table for a moment. Then she said something in what sounded like a Hebrew accent to her friends, and made her way onto the dance floor. There she partnered up with the male performer, who seemed to be trying to humor her random shaking, earning very dirty looks from the female performers. Her buds cheered her on. Deferred shame or alcoholic toxicity caught up with her, for shortly thereafter, she and her drunken friends staggered out of the restaurant.
Afterwards I wondered: Who exhibits utter ignorance of other cultures and customs? Who violates the social norms and protocols of other cultures and communities with impunity, here and on a global scale? Who proudly wears her ignorance and ignominy on her sleeve? Who else but Whitey.
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