When passing another Black person, I make eye contact, give a slight nod and, often, say "good morning." I adopted the habit back in college when we were grains of pepper in a salt mill. I still get annoyed when the silent solidarity is ignored. I once asked a friend why she didn't greet black people on the street. She asked me why I would expend energy on strangers. I'm in Botswana again. Brown faces everywhere: cafes, head offices, billboards, everywhere. Strange how the logistics and legacy of "minority" have etched into my bones. I'm still nodding and greeting passing strangers, "Dumela." Less for solidarity and much more like celebration. - Dasha Kelly Hamilton
It struck a chord with me.
I must admit that I had to look up the word "dumela." It is a common word among the numerous and various languages on the African continent. From a variety of sources, I found that among the Bantu, it means "good morning" or "hello." In other parts of the continent it means "believe." In still other parts it means "complain" or "attack." I would prefer the first two meanings, mainly because I think we have too much attacking and complaining going on.
In Polish we say "Dzień dobry." When I started subbing this past school year, one of my first encounters in Round Lake High School involved twin freshman girls in an English class. They were immigrants from Poland and they appreciated that I asked them how they were doing in Polish. I'll admit that the native language of my dad and grandmother did not transfer down to me other than in a few perfunctory phrases. Still, in subsequent duties at the school, whenever I saw either of the girls in the hall or a class, we exchanged the greeting, and smiled.
The purpose of such greetings, be it in Poland, or Africa, or the United States is to acknowledge the existence of another person, even a stranger. That's what struck a chord with me in the short email from my friend.
In these pandemic times, we don't see other people that often. If we're out of work or working at home we certainly don't see the usual cadre of coworkers. Our encounters with others involve people with whom our experience is fleeting at best. A glance and nod at the delivery person. A brief conversation with the clerk in a store.
I take a walk every day if I can. On the way to the train station I occasionally see people, mostly strangers, some regularly, like the young woman playing fetch with her dog. Odd that I know the name of the dog, Gladys, and not the name of the woman. Another young woman I see regularly is named Janelli. She usually is jogging past me, but one time she slowed and we talked briefly. Now we smile and wave to each other.
And a lot of strangers. People I see regularly. People for the first time. People that I never see again. People I see over and over.
I see someone, I say “Good morning.” It’s an acknowledgement of their presence, on the same path, in this same moment of time. You’re human. I’m human. You have a dog.
Sometimes, though, the other person is involved in a phone conversation, or jogging furiously, engrossed in whatever is blaring in their earbuds. I still say, “Good morning,” but they go merrily on their way seemingly unaware of their surroundings or other beings on the planet.
What my friend refers to as a silent solidarity. I think that is the real purpose of “dumela” or "dzień dobry” or “bonjour” or “Góðan daginn” or “Madainn mhath” or “aloha kakahiaka”
Or
“صباح الخير”
or
“早上好”
Or any of the other thousands of languages of this world we humans share. When we meet, whether as friends or strangers, we share a common humanity, a common air, a common Earth, the ground on which we walk. Yes, it’s a good morning. We’re in this world together. Let’s acknowledge that and celebrate indeed.
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