now in jail!"
I said, "You wonder why I don't dance? Because I want you to remember twenty-two million
Afro-Americans in the U.S.!"
But I sure felt like dancing! The Ghanaians performed the high-life as if possessed. One pretty
African girl sang "Blue Moon" like Sarah Vaughan. Sometimes the band sounded like Milt
Jackson, sometimes like Charlie Parker.
The next morning, a Saturday, I heard that Cassius Clay and his entourage had arrived. There
was a huge reception for him at the airport. I thought that if Cassius and I happened to meet, it
would likely prove embarrassing for Cassius, since he had elected to remain with Elijah
Muhammad's version of Islam. I would not have been embarrassed, but I knew that Cassius
would have been forbidden to associate with me. I knew that Cassius knew I had been with him,
and for him, and believed in him, when those who later embraced him felt that he had no chance.
I decided to avoid Cassius so as not to put him on the spot.
A luncheon was given for me that afternoon by the Nigerian High Commissioner, His Excellency
Alhadji Isa Wall, a short, bespectacled, extremely warm and friendly man who had lived in
Washington, D.C. for two years. After lunch, His Excellency spoke to the guests of his American
encounters with discrimination, and of friendships he had made with Afro-Americans, and he
reaffirmed the bonds between Africans and Afro-Americans.
His Excellency held up before the luncheon guests a large and handsome issue of an American
magazine, Horizon; it was opened to an article about the Nation of Islam, written by Dr. Morroe
Berger of Princeton University. One full page was a photograph of me; the opposite full page was
a beautiful color illustration of a black royal Nigerian Muslim, stalwart and handsome, of hundreds
of years ago.
"When I look at these photographs, I know these two people are one," said His Excellency. "The
only difference is in their attire-and one was born in America and the other in Africa.
"So to let everyone know that I believe we are brothers, I am going to give to Alhadji Malcolm X a
robe like that worn by the Nigerian in this photo."
I was overwhelmed by the splendor of the beautiful blue robe and the orange turban which His
Excellency then presented to me. I bent over so that he, a short man, could properly arrange the
turban on my head. His Excellency Alhadji Isa Wali also presented me with a two-volume
translation of the Holy Quran. After this unforgettable luncheon, Mrs. Shirley Graham Du Bois
drove me to her home, so that I could see and photograph the home where her famed late
husband, Dr. W. E. B. Du Bois, had spent his last days. Mrs. Du Bois, a writer, was the Director of
Ghanaian television, which was planned for educational purposes. When Dr. Du Bois had come
to Ghana, she told me, Dr. Nkrumah had set up the aging great militant Afro-American scholar
like a king, giving to Dr. Du Bois everything he could wish for. Mrs. Du Bois told me that when Dr.
Du Bois was failing fast, Dr. Nkrumah had visited, and the two men had said good-bye, both
knowing that one's death was near-and Dr. Nkrumah had gone away in tears.
My final Ghanaian social event was a beautiful party in my honor given by HisExcellency Mr.
Armando Entralgo Gonzalez, the Cuban Ambassador to Ghana. The next morning-it was Sunday-
the "Malcolm X Committee" was waiting at my hotel, to accompany me to the airport. As we left
the hotel, we met Cassius Clay with some of his entourage, returning from his morning walk.
Cassius momentarily seemed uncertain-then he spoke, something almost monosyllabic, like
"How are you?" It flashed through my mind how close we had been before the fight that had
changed the course of his life. I replied that I was fine-something like that-and that I hoped he
was, which I sincerely meant. Later on, I sent Cassius a message by wire, saying that I hoped
that he would realize how much he was loved by Muslims wherever they were; and that he would
not let anyone use him and maneuver him into saying and doing things to tarnish his image.