Just messing about.

On my way home from work. It was early evening, still bright and lots of people about. I’m walking to the station. Slight kick-out swagger in my steps, a remnant from earlier days. In the earphones; Public Enemy’s “Harder than you think”, the bombastic UK-hit that never got the attention it deserved in the US.

A bunch of black kids coming towards me. Like a shoal of fish, they divide and disappear out of sight somewhere behind. All except one. He’s blocking my way with a tall but childish presence. The mouth starts moving. Reluctantly, I take the earphones out.

“You just won the lottery!”

I look into his smooth face. The eyes are neutral.

“Just say the word nigger!” Around his mouth; the tiniest of smirks.

Just say the word nigger!

For a few seconds we’re looking at each other, me and this black boy who wants me to say nigger. The mouth starts moving again, but my earphones are already back in.

A firm step to the side and I’m off. It’s getting late and there’s plenty of journey left. No time to lose or for losers. Up towards the train, passed the beggar, the born-again Christians pushing leaflets to potential converts, the dealers and hustlers outside the station and the gang of school girls in chequered skirts and big hairs.

I must not look back because looking back is a waste of time.

But; the black boy stays in my head. All week, he’s there, asking me to say the word nigger. Like the shades-wearing and clock-dangling Flav, non-stop buzzing in Chuck D’s ear in the Public Enemy video below, the boy keeps ringing in my ears, popping up in front of my eyes, forever going on about nigger. He doesn’t leave me alone.

Why is a black kid stopping me on the street, asking me to say nigger?

Is it the four hundred years of rape, torture and slavery? Inherited bitterness grinding the soul down into south London’s sick-smelling pavements?

Is it the disproportional use of stop and search powers by police on black youth?

Is it all the skunk? Rastas tell me, it’s messing up the kids’ brains.

Or is it, like my black colleagues say when I share my street stories in the hospital corridors, just a symptom of society’s failure when outlawing proper disciplining in families and schools? The kid just needed to get hit a little bit harder, a little bit more often?

Am I taking this too far? The kid was just messing about, right? Like some kids do?

Messing about.

Or …

… was he about to …

… mess up?

Chances are, that he, like half of all black kids in the UK, has had a childhood without a dad.

And that, as we know, might well mess you up.

Rolling Stones of the rap game, not braggin’
Lips bigger than Jagger, not saggin’
Spell it backwards, I’ma leave it at that…
That ain’t got nothin to do with rap

A war goin on so where y’all at?
“Fight the Power” comes great responsibility
‘F the Police’ but who’s stopping YOU from killing me?