THE STORY OF A BOOK:
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MALCOM X

The first time that I ever saw a copy of “The Autobiography of Malcom X”, I was 12 years old and I was at the house of a friend of my brother and I, Leslie. That was during a time when hats and t-shirts with the big “X” on were popular (along with Cross Colours, Travel Fox Kangools, Stitches and Major Damage). Leslie’s dad had seen the style and thought that his son should know what the “X” really meant.

I found out that part of the story later on. The first actual encounter with the book was from when we were listening to music in Leslie’s room. The book was sitting on his side table. The red lettering, the painted image and the famous name that I knew very little about drew me to the book. Picking it up, I felt as if I was holding something special; just by being in my hands and then skimming a few sentences, I rush came over me.

With the book in my hands, Leslie’s mother entered the room. Seeing the book in my hands, she asked me if I had read it. I wasn’t sure if I should be holding the book, like I had been caught touching an exhibit in a museum, though the cover was glossy and the pages virtually untouched. She then began to make comments about the “X” being so fashionable, and told me the story about Leslie’s dad buying the book and requiring that his son read it.
























I did not read it for another five years, when I was in grade 12. In the meantime, I had seen the movie, seen clips of his speeches, and heard countless references to him in Hip Hop lyrics. The copy that I read was not Leslie’s, but from the basement of Mr. Huggins who collected stacks and stacks of books that would, for the most part, go unread. I, like many others, had found a book that spoke to me in his collection, and picked it up to read it.

Over a period of three months, I moved through the story of his life as told to and by Alex Haley. Most of my reading was on bus rides, mostly between Scarborough and Richmond Hill – there are places along that route that remind me of moments in his story.

That time of my life was marked by a major transition; I had moved from being on the verge of throwing away my future, to a cusp where the future possibilities were magnificent. That is why I related so story: Malcom Little, to Red, from prison, to Malcom X, and then El Hajj Malik El Shabaz. Finding out that the date of my baptism in 2000 was on the anniversary of his assasination added to this connection.

Seven years later, I was walking at night down the road leading from my home in Jisonayili to the road. I was walking with Nuri-Haque after we had just watched a tragic documentary about Marcus Garvey. Some how the conversation then touched on Malcom X, and I was surprised to hear that he had not seen the movie or read the book. I knew that he would love it. I told him that I would get someone to send a copy to Ghana.

The next day I sent out an email to about ten people who I thought might have a copy to send or an interest in sending one. Of the ten or so, it was Grant who jumped at the need with eagerness.

After sending him the mailing address, he confirmed that he would send a copy, and would be happy to do so.

About eight weeks later I went to the post office to pick up some mail, when I saw the brown paper wrapping tightly sealing the book. Grant’s name and address on the package confirmed the content of the package. After opening it for the customs officer to inspect, I carried it away from the post office glowing. I called Nuri-Haque right away to tell him that the book had arrived. Being that he had recently moved from Tamale to Kumasi for school, I went about sending it through the mail immediately.

Holding the glossy cover brought back so many memories. In the taxi home, I began to read the foreword written by Malcom’s daughter; the taste stirred a hunger for more, but I put the book down as I wanted it to arrive as a brand new gift.

For the next couple of weeks, I would get a phone call or a text message mentioning a portion of the book, or repeating a thank you to me – to send on to Grant also – for the book. One text message read: “The book is the greatest gift I have ever received in my life”. I passed on the sentiments to Grant, and added my own.

Grant’s account of having to wait until he had the funds to spare, and taking the trip to Knowledge Bookstore in Brampton to get the book added another layer of meaning for me.

Just before Christmas I left Tamale for Accra. Soon after that Nuri-Haque left Kumasi to visit Tamale. On his way into Tamale, with a few bags in hand, he left the book in a taxi. He called me to tell me of the incident and that it stung him inside. He had contacted the taxi station, and inquired as to whether the book had turned up. They had said that they would call him if one of the driver’s turned it in.

Speaking about the situation, I could relate to his own disappointment. He explained that he had read the book twice and was on a third read, afterwhich, he intended to give it to a friend of his.

“I just hope that the person who has it reads it, and is blessed by it. It would be tragic if someone just kept it, but didn’t read it”, he described.

“If I get it back, that would be great”.

A day later I got a text message: “God is good! I got the book back”.