A Man from Another Land: How Finding My Roots Changed My Life (23 page)

Crispian walked us by Senator John Thune’s office, but he wasn’t there. It was getting late, so we hustled over to our final
meeting, with Senator Sam Brownback. Senator Brownback’s receptionist demanded that I take a picture with her before she would
let us in. She then walked us into the senator’s conference room and said he would be with us shortly. I asked Sonya to call
Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital for an update on Adisa. It wasn’t good. Apparently, his internal organs were failing. He
had had to be revived twice.

A knot started growing in my stomach and I wanted to throw up. But I had to steel myself and press on. I asked Sonya to load
the video and cue it up to the middle. By this time I realized the hour-long presentation was too lengthy to sit through for
each meeting.

Senator Brownback walked in. “What can I do for you?” he asked after we shook hands and sat down.

I told him, “I’ve just returned from Sierra Leone and am here to raise awareness of the good things I’ve seen there and why
I think Sierra Leone deserves another chance in the world.”

“Well, Sierra Leone doesn’t have a very good reputation in this town,” the senator said.

“Yes, sir,” I responded, “I realize that, but the children are suffering for what adults have done.”

“Good point,” he said, “but the U.S. government isn’t going to give you any money for Sierra Leone.”

I explained I wasn’t there for money. I was there to find out if he would support me if I could get some things done on my
own. “I was hoping that I could come to you for support once I achieve my goals.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I am going to build a school,” I said.

“That’s great; now tell me about the child soldiers.” I blinked in miscomprehension and looked around the room. “I’m sorry?”

He repeated, “I know how bad things are in Africa. What I want to know is what’s going on with the child soldiers there.”

“Senator, the war has been over for four years now, there are no child soldiers anymore.”

He adjusted his tie. “When are you going back?”

“As soon as I can,” I told him. “I have a 365-Day Plan put together with some of my goals.”

“That’s good. Well, I wish you the best of luck. Let’s keep in touch.”

I thanked him for his time, we shook hands, and my team and I left.

Gonzalo took a shot of me, Crispian, and Dr. Panossian with the Capitol in the background. It was a beautiful shot and a great
day of lobbying for Sierra Leone on the Hill.

We drove back to the Hotel George. Dr. Panossian and I walked into the Bistro Bis and I ordered a scotch on the rocks. I turned
to him and said, “Andre, I need to know what the fuck is going on with Adisa. If it is Lassa fever, the CDC is going to quarantine
Adisa and the Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital, right?”

“It could happen,” he said.

“Do you think Adisa is going to make it?” I asked.

“He is really, really sick, Isaiah. I ran a check on this Dr. Yoo and he knows his stuff.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I pulled out my mobile phone and called Dr. Keith Black at Cedars-Sinai. I dragged Dr. Panossian
into the coat check closet where it was quiet and put him on the phone. He explained what he knew about Adisa’s case and handed
the phone back to me.

“Keith,” I said, “who is the best internist you know? I need the best man ASAP!”

“Calm down, Isaiah,” he said. “Let me make a few calls and I will get back to you, okay?”

Dr. Panossian looked at me dumbfounded. “Was that
the
Dr. Keith Black?” When I confirmed that it was, he said, “Wow. I just talked to
Dr. Keith Black.
” I guess we were all having extraordinary experiences that day.

“I need a stiff drink,” I said.

We walked out of the coat check closet and back to the bar. A waiter saw us emerge and jokingly said, “Get a room, guys.”

I knew that I would become a voice for a people that had no voice. That’s the pledge I made to myself and the people of Sierra
Leone on the day I left Freetown. On July 20, 2006, the NAACP National Convention took place in Washington, DC. NAACP President
Bruce Gordon invited me to speak at what was to be the first NAACP convention appearance of President George W. Bush’s presidency.

The auditorium was crackling with anticipation as high-profile guests such as Jesse Jackson and Condoleezza Rice walked in
and took their seats. I was one of a cadre of special guest speakers scheduled to appear. I was supposed to speak after
the President, but he was running late, so I was asked to begin my speech earlier than planned.

I stepped up to the podium, a little intimidated by the huge crowd of civil rights leaders and political elites. I was about
one minute into my address when the event organizer came over and whispered for me to inform the audience that President Bush
had arrived.

I took my seat and watched as the President strolled to the podium to thunderous applause. I couldn’t help but notice how
intensely charismatic he was in person. I sat on the dais a mere ten feet from him. I noticed, as he delivered what I thought
was a brilliant and heartfelt speech, that his left foot was crossed behind his right one in a very relaxed manner.

The parts of his speech that stood out for me most as later quoted on the
New York Times
Web site were this:

For nearly 200 years, our nation failed the test of extending the blessings of liberty to African Americans. Slavery was legal
for nearly a hundred years, and discrimination legal in many places for nearly a hundred years more. Taken together, the record
placed a stain on America’s founding, a stain that we have not yet wiped clean.

When people talk about America’s founders they mention the likes of Washington and Jefferson and Franklin and Adams. Too often
they ignore another group of founders—men and women and children who did not come to America of their free will, but in chains.
These founders literally helped build our country. They chopped the wood, they built the homes, they tilled the fields, and
they reaped the harvest. They raised children of others, even though their own children had been ripped away and sold to strangers.
These founders were denied the most basic birthright, and that’s freedom.

Yet, through captivity and oppression, they kept the faith. They carved a great nation out of the wilderness, and later, their
descendants led a people out of the wilderness of bigotry. Nearly 200 years into our history as a nation, America experienced
a second founding: the Civil Rights movement. Some of those leaders are here. These second founders, led by the likes of Thurgood
Marshall and Martin Luther King, Jr., believed in the constitutional guarantees of liberty and equality. They trusted fellow
Americans to join them in doing the right thing. They were leaders. They toppled Jim Crow through simple deeds: boarding a
bus, walking along the road, showing up peacefully at courthouses or joining in prayer and song. Despite the sheriff’s dogs,
and the jailer’s scorn, and the hangman’s noose, and the assassin’s bullets, they prevailed.

And this:

We’re leading the world when it comes to providing medications and help. Today more than 40 million people around the world
are living with HIV/AIDS; 26 million of those live in Sub Sahara Africa, including 2 million children under the age of 15.
We’re calling people together. We pledged $15 billion to provide medicine and help. We launched the emergency plan for AIDS
relief. Before this AIDS emergency plan was passed, only 50,000 in Sub Sahara Africa were getting medicine. Today, that number
has grown to more than 560,000 people, and more are getting help every day. By working together we can turn the tide of this
struggle against HIV/AIDS and bring new hope to millions of people.
⁹

As the President finished his speech and made his way through the elated crowd, I thought to myself, “How the hell do I follow
that?” I stepped back up to the podium and noticed that Jesse and Condi had left the room. I knew the only reason 50 percent
of the audience was there was to hear the President. I took a deep breath and explained why I was invited. I spoke about my
DNA test and what it revealed to me. I talked about the plight of Sierra Leone and its children. I told the audience about
what it would be like if all African Americans knew where they came from. I talked about what Paul Robeson, Langston Hughes,
W. E. B. DuBois, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. would have done if they had known
their
African ancestry. I spoke about who Gondobay Manga was and why I was made Chief Gondobay Manga II. I told them about what
it would be like to finally bridge the gap between African Americans and Africans, and what it would be like if we could all
work together to create a strong economic base for ourselves in Africa.

I spoke from my heart. When I was done, the crowd responded with a wonderful round of applause. I thanked the audience for
listening on behalf of the Sierra Leonean people and returned to my seat. It was done. The voice of Sierra Leone was heard
that day. And this was just the beginning.

I
flipped open my laptop and began checking e-mails. There was one from Jeffrey Sachs. I jumped up and literally started dancing
around my trailer, causing it to rock from side to side. There was a knock on the door. “It’s open!” I shouted.

The second assistant director on my TV show peeked her head in. “You okay in here?”

“Yes!” I answered. “I just got the greatest e-mail EVER! You wanna read it?”

“Wow,” she said, “it must be really good.”

“It’s from Jeffrey Sachs!”

She just stood there, looking puzzled and confused, not having the first idea who Jeffrey Sachs was. “Never mind,” I said,
deciding not to interrupt my good feelings by stopping to explain.

“They just called on the radio,” she said. “They need you in makeup.”

“Great. I just have to read this e-mail one more time.”

I knew that this wasn’t an official commitment from Jeffrey Sachs to make my village one of his Millennium Villages, to make
it sustainable through his organization. The important thing was that the very village where I was made Chief Gondobay Manga
II was now on his radar.

I officially opened my office for the Gondobay Manga Foundation (TGMF) on September 1, 2006. I made Sonya Gay Bourn the president;
Dr. Andre Panossian, Jackie Coker, Breton F. Washington, and my lovely wife, Jenisa M. Washington, became my board of directors.
I took on the role of chairman.

The first official TGMF meeting took place during a one-hour lunch break in my trailer, with Rosalind Kainyah from De Beers
and Jamie Cadwell from the Diamond Information Center. I passed around a bottle of Yellowtail merlot and discussed how TGMF,
De Beers, and the Diamond Information Center could work together.

“Rosalind, is De Beers prepared to write a check to rebuild the Bo Hospital in Sierra Leone?” I bluntly asked. “The hospital
is supposed to serve a population of close to one million people and it doesn’t even have an oxygen bottle or any rubber gloves.”

“You’re not African, so why are you so interested in Africa?” she responded.

“Rosalind,” I explained, “that is no reason for me to not care about the people I share DNA with. Unlike you, I had no knowledge
of where I was from in Africa or who my ancestors were, and now I do. I care because I can afford to care. So, are you asking
me that question because I’m African American or are you asking me because you are Ghanaian?”

“I’m asking because I want to know why
you
want to change things in Sierra Leone,” she said. “The conditions are horrible there, but they are horrible all over Africa.
You want to rebuild Sierra Leone, I get that, but how do you intend to pay for it?”

“
I’m
paying for it for now,” I explained, “but I need sponsorships, partnerships. I need De Beers!”

“Isaiah,” she said emphatically, “De Beers is not going to give you any money.”

I looked at Sonya. “Sonya,” I asked, “does Rosalind have a copy of our 365-Day Plan?”

“She sure does,” Sonya answered.

“Jamie, how much is the Diamond Information Center willing to donate?”

Jamie looked at Rosalind. “The Diamond Information Center isn’t prepared to donate any money,” she explained, “but we can
offer you our Rolodex and put on a fund-raiser for TGMF.”

The wine was starting to make my head feel tight. “Wait a minute,” I said, “you two flew all the way to Los Angeles. I sent
a car to bring both of you here to meet me. You drink my wine and now you’re telling me you both came here empty-handed? Sierra
Leone is the poorest country in the world. De Beers and DIC owe Sierra Leone a great deal.”

Sonya piped in, “Ms. Kainyah, Isaiah is very passionate about
Sierra Leone, as you can see. He’s put a lot of pressure on himself and probably should not have
any more wine—
”

I interrupted, “Why are you talking like I’m not sitting here, Sonya? I’m sitting right here! Come on, guys, people are dying
in Sierra Leone as we speak and we are here wasting time. You know what? I think this meeting is over. Ms. Kainyah has eaten
and had her wine and I gotta get back to work. Oh by the way, do we have to pay for the car to drive them to their next meeting?”

“Isaiah!” Sonya exclaimed.

“No, Sonya, what are we doing here? I’m tired of friendly meetings that end up being just a bunch of bullshit. Look, if I
had twenty million dollars in the bank, then I would do what I need to do in Sierra Leone myself. But I don’t, and the clock
is ticking. So Ms. Kainyah, Ms. Cadwell, I’m sorry if I’m offending you.”