Sambo among Us
When
we come back from our summer vacation to school, teachers organize a Black Contest in this large temple hall. Kids compete against each other to see how
dark they become over the summer.
Although I have tried really hard to win every summer, my competition
always ends in the first round. To me,
being dark is a way to make a connection to Black
Sambo from the book. A champion of
the black contest is always extremely dark, just like Sambo.
A black, smart, and witty boy, Sambo,
somehow gets in trouble with tigers. However,
he wisely escapes from them, and quickly climbs onto the top of the coconut
trees. These tigers have no clue where
Sambo went. The tigers keep running
around the trees, looking for the mischief until they finally melt into
butter. His mom and Sambo feast on pancakes
with Tiger Butter until their stomachs cannot accept anymore.
I
want to be Sambo. My imagination brings heavenly rich, golden
yellow, and mouthwatering butter on top of more than the 25 slices of pancakes
right in front of me. I strongly believe
I should receive “real” pancakes with Tiger Butter as long as I become a Black
Contest champion, perhaps as a prize. I
also know I am not going to win no matter how hard I try because my home has a
fatal disadvantage. Although my hometown is surrounded by the water, our home is not
quite a walking distance to the beach compared to the majority of the kids in
our school. This year’s champion is even
darker than real Sambo in my opinion. Especially in the dark temple hall, he is
almost invisible. We can only track
where he is by carefully finding the white part of his eyes. I enviously and impatiently clap my hands for
another episode of losing.
At least Grandma Masu will take me to the pancake
house next weekend. I know I will order
two slices of pancakes with a butter cube on the top. She will say ok when I ask to order an extra
amount of syrup and lemon tea. As long
as I am with Grandma Masu, I don’t really have to be Sambo to get tasty pancakes with melting butter.
Note: In a few decades, I will learn about the controversy over the Sambo story in the multicultural literacy class in an American grad school.
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