The Federation of Africa

© 2006 Keith Singleton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/28/2006

ISBN: 9781425953065 (e)

ISBN: 9781425953157 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2006907484

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter I

Now is the best of times. As I witness my ship approaching the shore, I need to embrace this moment. It has been one of those events I’ve longed for all of my life. As my ship approaches, my people of Orphalese rush out to hear my voice for the last time. I now understand the deep melancholy of the prophet and the profound sadness that accompanied his joy as he prepared to set sail to his final destination.

Celebrating the successes of others has become the habit of the African who lives in America. My list of celebrities includes Colin Powell, Michael Jordan, Jesse Jackson, and a few others. I am awestruck at our insistence on defending President Clinton for his behaviors that seem to offend so many of the majority ethnic group. Do we identify with his victim status? We were on the frontlines leading the charge when Vice President Gore was boggled down in Florida. But the strangest thing occurred to me: He never asked for our assistance. And our leaders seem afraid of us. Have you ever gone to a community event and noticed that the leaders always seem busy proceeding to the next meeting to discuss our problems, but we — the folks they are discussing — are left out the room? What black leaders do we have today who are tangible? My hope is that this book inspires a new Dr. King or Malcolm X: A black man who really draws his strength from the people and is genuinely concerned about their welfare.

We seem stuck in what could have been or yesterday’s transgressions against us. My list of successes was opium used to soothe my real pain. My fatigue began and ended with that list. Now I refuse to celebrate other folks’ successes any longer. This simple story takes us past those tendencies and projects the evolution of African Americans past the stage of just existing to taking control of our destiny.

King Cornell is a man whose time has arrived. His ascension to power ushers in all the things that create legends and inspire visions. Cornell inspired me to accept reality for what it is in America and to develop the things I control. This may surprise you, but I actually idolize those early pilgrims who came to America. They had staying power and they executed their vision for their families. Europe was stratified in a vicious class system and those brave souls took on the unknown to establish a new reality for themselves. Africans in the Diaspora must do the same. The present evolution in America is to reduce the middle class and to increase the barriers to economic mobility. Simply put, the have-nots had better become acquainted with the term of knowing your place in life. That reality is not good enough for the descendents of kings and queens.

The next great migration for African Americans will be back to Africa. This process is inevitable. Blacks folks no longer will accept the scapegoating and second-class status that comes with living in America. Africa will soon become a place that represents opportunity. It will no longer be viewed as a place of inferiority. Going back to Africa becomes the most logical choice, and our descendents will wonder out loud why we did not leave sooner.

I meet my ambition headfirst, embrace my goals, and learn to celebrate my successes. My ship has come, and with my ship, the slow acceptance that life is always about evolving, always about change, and always full of joy when one dares to achieve his dreams.

Allow me some moments to reflect on my past experiences. My triumphs and tragedies are the monetary exchange that I use to now board my ship. Who can pursue dreams when you are unhappy? What inspires change, but dreams? What fuels inspiration, but a dissatisfaction with the current events of today? I daresay that a pursuit of one’s dreams only occurs when you settle the events in life that are causing distress. This could be a person, a position, or your economic status. I cannot speak for others, but I can safely say that I have come to terms with those events causing me distress. I found an equitable solution for me and everyone I have daily contact with.

My story will bring you to this moment. I must warn you before you read any further, this story is about triumph over complacency and moral corruption. This is my attempt to give direction to other brothers who were like me; they used sex as a ruler to measure their manhood. I allowed my hormones to rule my thoughts and in that depraved state, I accepted a role no more important than that of an animal. I now realize that my manhood is measured by my willingness to dream. I can then use those dreams to conceptualize and quantify those phantoms floating in the ether of my mind to tangible realities that I can experience right now. I now realize that I am the embodiment of life itself. I am not the carrier of life, but the initiator of life. That means that anything or anyone who is connected with me represents me. Life is a chessboard. Before I rule a kingdom, I must take charge of the chess pieces that run my life. I am now the true master of my fate and captain of my soul. Why? Because now I am in full charge of my chess pieces. You will see what I see in the end: that life is not a dress rehearsal. It is not about waiting for a series of stations. It is about the ride. I realized it was me who was king all along.

Chapter 1

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod, down when the days of hope unborn had died…True to my God, True to my native land.

As two men headed around the winding, dusty trail, Hezekiah Sinclair brought his horse to a stop and pulled his canteen out for a draw of water. The hot Montana prairie sun was unrelenting on top of his head and his associate’s face reflected the gratification for the unplanned stop.

Son, what da hell we stoppin fo? Hell, I’m just warming up. I’se ready to kick some ass! Ezekiel Jackson was a horse of a man and when he spoke, the ground reverberated from his voice and most sane folks paid deference to his presence. He was six-foot-nine and weighed 355 pounds, with no signs of fat. The two men were reconnaissance scouts for an army unit patrolling and overseeing the relocation of Indians in the area. This was their third year in Montana and the harsh elements took no prisoners on anyone brave enough venture out in the open. The army had come to rely on these two men. They had been soldiers since 1862. Both men were former runaway slaves and jumped at the chance to fight in the Civil War to earn their freedom. Once the war ended, their unit moved out west to address the Indian concerns on the prairie. It was out here were they felt more like men.

Zeke, we bein’ followed. They been trailin’ us for four miles now.

How many?

Looks like about three.

Are they armed?

Can’t tell.

Bring your asses out right now, before I really get mad! Jackson’s deep baritone voice rang loud in the canyon and the red streaks more than displayed the irritation he was feeling from the information his partner had just provided him. As the older man, an Indian, emerged from behind the rocks, they saw that he was accompanied by a very beautiful girl (no older than twenty-five) and a young boy around the age of six.

We did not mean to disturb you two, but we have been out here for two days. Could you spare some water?

Both men breathed a little easier and got off their horses. This is just as good as any place to make camp. What happened to your horses? Zeke Jackson asked, while curiously eyeballing the young woman. They were mules and they died. responded the old man.

As nightfall came the three men had broken the tension and began sharing stories about the war and the resettlement effort being executed by the army. Why do you black men work for the pale faces? They are not honorable at all.

Hezekiah sends his money back to his wife in Cincinnati. I don’t have a family and I reckon I’m just out here passing away time. Better than working directly for someone puttin’ ya down all the time. Hell, out here I’m about as free as I gonna get.

The old Indian man smiled and began telling the two soldiers of a legend that would intertwine the black and red people’s history. Of how a king would emerge from such a union, restoring balance back to the earth. As each man bedded for the evening, the old man agreed to be repatriated back to the Indian territories. The sad stories coming from the soldiers made him forget about his own suffering at the hands of white folks. The next morning, Zeke Jackson discovered him first.

Hezekiah, the old Indian is dead.

Boy, what the hell you talking about?

As the two men looked at the remains, the young woman finally spoke. He was our medicine man. We are Seminole Indians. Lineage stretch back to what is now Florida, but my tribe settled here. My son and I accompanied him on his final journey, because he said our destinies required that we come here. From the moment he saw you two, he said his journey in life had come to an end. His name was Chief Stillwater and I have never seen him so happy as he was last night talking to you two. His last words to me were, ‘From the two of you, would rise a mighty empire and the culmination of an age-old dream. You two would be connected for life.’ He made me promise to tell you that.

Hezekiah was married. He was no more interested in this Indian woman than he was eating rattlesnake. He was out here doing what he had to do. Zeke Jackson, on the other hand, was a lonely man. His face was scarred as a child when a crazy overseer branded his jaw with cattle irons. Children usually ran from him because of his size and appearance, but he was the gentlest soul.

As the scouts continued their travels and caught up with their unit, they oversaw the processing of the young Indian woman and her son. Zeke had become quite friendly with both the woman and boy and over the next few weeks continued to see them after each patrol. Two days prior to their final trip to the Indian territories, Ezekiel made what amounted to be a startling revelation to his partner.

Hezekiah, I think I’m going to take this woman to the territories myself and settle down. I’se love her, ‘Kiah. Tell the folks at the Fort I was killed or something. I feel needed now.

Seven days later, as Hezekiah Sinclair made his way into Fort Smith, he watched his friend and brother Ezekiel Jackson accompany his new family into the Oklahoma territories. They would later settle in what is now Boley, Oklahoma. Days before, Hezekiah laughed at his friend as they discussed his newfound responsibilities as husband and father. They stoically recalled burying Chief Stillwater and were amazed to discover that he was ninety-seven. The woman who was causing their separation was called Silent Deer. Before she hit the scene, the two men had been inseparable for the last sixteen years. They shared the same whores, drank out of one canteen when required, and had routinely caught bullets for each other. It never occurred to them that they would never see each other again in life, but one thing was clear: before they parted, they loved each other as brothers.

Kiah, we joined the lodge together after joining the army. The only family I have is you. I want you to have this picture. Zeke gave Hezekiah a picture of them together during their patrolling days in Montana. On this picture, the six-foot-nine Ezekiel Jackson and the six-three Hezekiah were posing at a bar. It was one of the rare times you saw Zeke Jackson smile. It would be this picture that would follow the Sinclair family for generations to come.

The blackness that encompassed the room was symbolic of David’s state of mind. Five days ago, his interminable agony began. His father, King Cornell Sinclair the First, had been brutally assassinated. As I held the monster in my arms, protecting him from my father’s guards, he smiled wickedly at me. I shall never forget that look. I screamed for silence and my brother Nicolas demanded order. Then the beast stared at me and whispered, ‘It is finished, my brothers. Our agent is now in place.’ I demanded of him an answer. ‘You bastard, you just killed my light, my mentor, my father. What in God’s name are you talking about?’ He responded in a strained whisper, ‘I am already a dead man, but you shall be the catalyst that will end this abomination that the infidel Cornell started. You are our last hope. Just keep being the person that you are.’ With that statement, he died. Apparently, suicide, and with his passing a guilt stain permeated my soul. For you see, no one heard this crazy man, but me. Now, I have to live with the memory that somehow I caused the death of my father.

David’s thoughts were tormented. He had not left the throne room in five days. He had ceded temporary control of the kingdom to his sister, Turquoise.

What did I do to cause my father’s death? was the prevailing thought that occupied his mind. His coronation was now uncertain. His father’s ministers had possessed doubts about his fitness to rule, but now his despondency seemed to add credibility to the charges being laid by his critics. The constitution supported his succession; his father’s will certainly added doubt on the question of him being the new king. Despite what he had learned from the tapes and the direction his marriage was going, it was the killer’s maniacal smile and last words that had him in this state now. How could God allow this to happen?

My dad was a good man. He did not deserve this, David thought. He was the only person I knew who had the capacity to love everyone. The Tanzanians had totally been derelict in their security duties. General Konchilla was found murdered in his apartment. The United States had offered to send some Secret Service agents to assist with protecting the royal family until the mole was located. Turquoise assured them that those measures were unnecessary. Three days later, we found the culprit.

The investigation was leading in a terrifying direction, but one thing was intact, the Monarchy.

Terrible things happen, my family is not immune from this, but we have instituted something special for the entire world. In two hours, I will provide everyone the blueprint to its continuance. I am saddened by these events, but I celebrate what my father started. Things had started out so promising. David issued orders for his father’s secret service to gather and prepare for the official transition for the new king. His mind wandered back to the beginning…

It is two hours before the coronation. The sounds of fireworks, jet planes buzzing the sky, women scurrying to get ready are everywhere. The atmosphere is charged with excitement. Everywhere you look, you can see people talking incessantly. What is this American going to do for us that has not been promised previously? Sierra Leone had never been the center of such positive attention until today. The new king in waiting is arriving for his coronation. However, this will not be just the monarch of Sierra Leone. This man will symbolize the life essence of every heartbeat that is black! He will be the new king of the largest monarchy in the world after today! He will be the king of Africa!

General, this is a fabulous day! I must say that I think the proceedings leading up to today’s events were most strange to my government, but we are committed to non-interference into the internal affairs of your countries. I concur with the chamber’s assessment — that a leader versed in Western business practices and one who is committed to a self-sustaining system in his own right economically should be in charge — but what do you really know about this man? Why did he choose this village for his home?

General Konchilla from Kenya thought for a second and gestured upwardly, I have no idea, the General responded as he nodded the crowd of people, not able to identify where the comment came from, but I can assure you that he will be protected. The general’s private thoughts reflected the sentiment of everyone affected by this radical change. The U.S.A. does not support our new Federation. I believe the intentions of this man must be genuine. They are confused and seeking information from me. This idea must be what is best for all Africans involved. I thought my leaders had lost their minds supporting such a confederation, but to see this pompous white woman actually sweat does my heart good. I cannot wait to meet my new king.

General Konchilla had been a military man all of his life. Never had he witnessed such a peaceful transition in power. The new king chose him to be in charge of all of his security because his military and professional experiences were unmatched, and his knowledge about African affairs would be useful in the months ahead. Sierra Leone was chosen as the sight for his residence per the general’s recommendations for strategic political purposes. Tribalism is so rampant in Africa that to choose the wrong region or the wrong country would send the wrong signal. Nothing would be allowed to disrupt the unity that had started in the East Africa Chamber of Commerce. The general was also impressed by the way; the new monarch had listened to him. He could be controlled if necessary.

President Mbika of South Africa was worried. Both the King Hassan of Jordan and President Swaze of Egypt provided reassuring pats on the back, sensing his uneasiness. Tofu, the American will be easily controlled. We still run our affairs and make our own laws. This alliance will make us more competitive with the West economically. This move will rid us of the International Monetary System and the new monarchy will not be a U.S. puppet. Sinclair is an honorable man. King Hassan was a gentle soul. His comments were meant to be reassuring, but Mbika’s reply was swift.

" I agree, babba, but because he is an insider in America on Wall Street, I am not sure that will be enough. Being the friend of President Wilson of the United States does not help my cause in South Africa. I am not Mandela; I have to deliver results to my people, or we could be facing disastrous consequences. Your country has much to gain by the success of our new monarchy. I like how you so conveniently included yourself in an alliance that your country does not participate in. Nevertheless, I understand your role and the geopolitics involved. We must appear unified. Your country is part of the East African Chamber and it is from that organization that this idea germinated. I can assure you that if his policies interfere with my country and its progress, I will put an end to this experiment."

Tofu, my country is part of our New kingdom and may I remind you that with this alliance, Africa is now unified. Give our new king a chance. President Swaze’s comments were diplomatic, but rang with the authenticity that King Hassan’s words lacked. Each of the men seated in the plane wanted the distinction of the leading the continent. Sinclair had something they did not: personal credibility and wealth that garnered international respect. Secondly, he was from America. Though that had always been a handicap for Africans in the Diaspora, his accession to power was possible by the historical distrust that African leaders had of one another. Thirdly, he had rid Africa of the IMS! For that benefit, he asked and received this position. No, each leader was not deceived; they did not for once think that this monarchy would last in the long-term future, but they were willing to give this Olazerus his coveted title in exchange for the lifting of the crushing financial obligation to the West.

Yes, my brother Tofu, let’s enjoy this ride until our new king gets tired! bellowed Swaze with much sarcasm as their plane prepared to touch down in Sierra Leone.

Attention on deck! Everyone in the hall was frozen. General Konchilla was now escorting a very handsome young man to meet the U.S. delegation. The United States was being represented by Secretary of State Cassandra Fulson. Her greeting to the young visitor was guarded, but polite.

Hello Nicolas. Is your family ready? The president sends his greetings.

Nicolas Sinclair had been prepared for this moment all of his life. Of course, his family was ready. The real question was the world ready for what was about to occur? Madame Secretary, it is good seeing you again. I will be sure to pass your regards to my father. Currently, the last of his chief executives is briefing him.

When is your father planning to visit the president? Fulson asked.

Nicolas had been briefed before walking into the room on what to expect and how to handle each question. "All questions regarding my father need to be addressed by him. I am sure any one of the leaders of the individual countries in our realm can address whatever personal issues they have with