A Man from Another Land: How Finding My Roots Changed My Life (14 page)

“Yes, of course.” She continued, “I know Dr. Black would want to meet you, Mr. Washington, but please understand that
he is a very, very busy man and may only have ten or fifteen minutes to give you.”

“Whatever amount of time he can give me would be an honor.”

She promised to get back to me with a time Dr. Black and I could meet. I thanked her and hung up.

“Rehearsal’s up!” I heard a voice shout. I turned off my phone and proceeded to mentally prepare for a surgery of my own.

A week later I found myself getting off the elevator and standing in front of a beautiful and welcoming door with the metal
letters reading The Maxine Dunitz Neurosurgical Institute. Dr. Black’s assistant greeted me, offered me a seat, and asked
if I’d like something to drink. When his assistant said, “Dr. Black will see you now,” I stepped into Dr. Keith Black’s office.

His back was turned to me as I entered. “Have a seat,” he said, not turning around. I sat down, waiting to see his face. He
was preoccupied with some paperwork that I could hear rustling but could not see. To my left, I saw a photograph of what I
assumed was his daughter standing next to an airplane. I thought, “Is this guy a pilot too?” Finally, he turned around and
I was stunned at what I saw. Dr. Black looked a lot like me!

“Hey, man,” he said. “I will be with you in a second. I just have to do something really quick. Go ahead, what is it you wanted
to ask me?” I was too busy trying not to stare when I heard myself say, “Okay. Um… Dr. Black—”

He interrupted. “Call me Keith.”

I said, “Okay, I was just wondering if you shared the same opinion that DNA has memory.” Now at his computer multitasking,
without hesitation or looking up at me, he said, “Yes, it does.”

I said, “It does?” I felt an immediate sense of relief, of validation. It was as if I let out a long breath that I hadn’t
realized I’d
been holding. It was similar to the way I’d felt when I first saw a Spike Lee film and decided to become an actor. I just
knew. I had found the thing I had been looking for.

He stood up, walked back to his desk, and sat down to face me. I couldn’t help but notice that his blue scrubs, white medical
coat, and eyeglasses looked very much like my wardrobe for Dr. Preston Burke. His eyebrows were thicker than mine and his
voice soft, studied, and calming. I didn’t dare bring this up in our conversation for fear of being perceived as a weirdo.

I had to work hard to maintain my faltering composure. I explained my ancestral link with the Mende and Temne peoples through
a DNA test and that I was planning a trip to Sierra Leone to see the country and the people for myself.

“That’s great, man,” he said. “My daughter is doing an internship in Gabon right now. I have been working in Gabon for nearly
twenty years. I love it there.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why Gabon?”

“I don’t know, I just feel at home there,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have diplomatic status there and the president of
Gabon and I are very close. I will be working in Gabon for many years to come.”

“Would you be interested in taking a DNA test to see if there is any ancestral link to explain why you are so connected to
Gabon?” Without hesitation Dr. Black agreed. I was dumbfounded by how casual he was about it. I was blown away by his explanation
of the brain and how it allows us to see, hear, and smell with confidence and speed. I was thinking to myself, “This is the
sexiest shit I have ever heard!”

When he finished, to make sure that he understood I recognized his genius and respected it, I licked my dry lips and said,
“Keith, I know that you are smarter than me, but spiritually speaking, I think I can keep up with you.”

Dr. Black’s head slightly fell back and he laughed so coolly
that it made me laugh too. His door opened and his assistant stuck her head in. I assumed this was an in-house tactic used
to allow him to make his escape if I proved unworthy of his precious time. But to my surprise, Dr. Black gave his assistant
an “It’s okay” nod and she quickly retreated, closing the door behind her. I admired his subtlety.

I had surpassed the ten- or fifteen-minute meeting time Dr. Black’s assistant said to expect. “That was funny, Isaiah,” he
said, smiling. “Yes, I know scientifically everything one needs to know about the brain, but no one knows what makes the brain
work or what makes the heart beat. I wanted to know more about the connection between the mind, body, and spirit. I started
reading up on various massage techniques. I took up meditation, studied Eastern cultures and their alternative herbal medicines.
I read voraciously about naturopathic and homeopathic treatments and acupuncture.”

Dr. Black took off his glasses and began to clean them as if for effect or to remove any barriers between us. As he talked
I never took my eyes off of his. He put his glasses back on and told me a story. “Isaiah, I was once meditating and found
myself looking down at my own body. I heard or sensed a voice say, ‘If you want more knowledge, you will have to leave your
body and go through the roof.’ I was so startled. I thought to myself, ‘No thanks! I think I’ll stick around, you know, down
here a little while longer.’ That’s when I decided that I would try to do less cutting and incorporate more holistic remedies.”

The door would open again and again, and each time Dr. Black silently sent his assistant away. I couldn’t help but notice
how poised and precise he was. He never seemed to waste any movements. His stillness drew me in deeper. “I’m interested to
know my genetic connection to our people,” he continued, “I have been thinking about it for a long time. I’m really curious
to see what they find. How much are the tests?”

I assured him it was on me. “You sure?” he asked.

“It would be my pleasure,” I told him. I asked if he was familiar with the book
The Journey of Man
by Spencer Wells, a book Mr. Sidney Poitier had given me.

He smiled widely. “You know Sidney?”

“Yes,” I said. “I even debated with him in his own house, trying to persuade him to take the DNA test.”

“Did he take it?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “He told me that I will achieve everything that I’m trying to do, but in the end I will find that we are all
brothers and for me to never forget that.”

“Wow,” Dr. Black said. “I love Sidney. You know I taught Sidney how to sail. You sail?”

“No,” I said, “but my son has learned.”

“You scuba dive?” he asked.

“No, but I would love to learn at some point.”

Dr. Black looked straight into my eyes and said, “Isaiah, you must dive with me one day. You just have to. It’s beautiful.
There is so much life down there.”

The door opened again and the assistant was not as easily sent away this time. Apparently, Dr. Black and I had been talking
for nearly an hour and a half ! She walked in and stood at the door waiting for me to get up and follow her out. Dr. Black
and I stood up and shook hands. “Hey, man, we need to do this again sometime,” he said.

“I hope so,” I replied.

“Keith,” I asked as I started to leave, “can I go out into the world and say that DNA has memory?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

I turned to go, paused one more time. “Just one more thing. When I do this thing, when I say that DNA has memory, will you
back me up if I need you to?”

He smiled and said, “Absolutely.”

I promised him I would ask African Ancestry to expedite his results. Then I walked out of his office feeling as if I were
floating on a cloud.

For a long time, I just sat quietly in my car in the parking garage of Cedars-Sinai, unable to yet drive away. As I considered
what had just transpired, it hit me: after receiving my DNA results, I no longer felt like an outsider in the world.

Where I had once felt as if no matter where I went, no matter what group I was with, I never quite belonged, now knowing where
I came from did more than strengthen my sense of nationalism; it strengthened me as a man, as a person. A strong me, in turn,
strengthened my sense of fatherhood. A strong me strengthened my ability to be a better husband, teacher, leader, and friend.
A strong me strengthened my sense of globalism.
I know my place
… my place in the world.

I
t was May 20, 2006, just before noon. The sun was high in the sky and shining brightly, an awesome rehearsal for the upcoming
summer. My eldest son, Akin, and my son, Tyme, had been awake since 6:30 a.m. and I sensed they knew Daddy was leaving today.
They played peacefully as Jenisa and I lazed away in bed. My daughter, Iman, was awake as well. She had this habit of looking
at me, doing what looks like a double take, and then she nestles close under my arm, stretching her arms and legs out like
a cat shaking off its slumber. Iman threw up her hands, a sign for me to pick her up. Jenisa got up and proceeded to make
us a wonderful breakfast. I said a few silent blessings and took in the simple wonder of this morning with my family.

My ride to Los Angeles International Airport was smooth and traffic free; and the Virgin Atlantic check-in was simple and
fast. I met up with the team: Antonio K. Hubbard, Sonya Gay Bourn, Breton F. Washington, Dr. Andre Panossian, and Michael
Caulfield. Two others had been added to the group as
well. Adisa Jones, my soundman, came highly recommended. He was a very animated, fun-loving African American man. A very spiritual
person, he was well connected to the Agape International spiritual community and had close ties with various Kemetic organizations.
Adisa loved him some African culture. I knew the moment I met him he would be the perfect person for the project. Gary Livneh
would be the cameraman. He was a good-looking version of Henry Kissinger. Our interview had lasted about two hours. I originally
had someone else in mind for the project but he was not available. I needed to make a decision quickly, so Gary was the guy.

Everyone was present and accounted for. Jackie Coker and Raymond Scott-Manga were already on the ground in Sierra Leone and
attorney Crispian Kirk, whose connecting flight was delayed, was on his way. The Virgin Atlantic lounge was quiet and comfortable.
Everyone on the team, including me, was excited and ready to go. After so much planning, it was hard to believe that this
was finally happening.

About a half hour before we were scheduled to board Sonya gave me the news that Crispian had finally arrived into Los Angeles
and was picking up his bags. “Yes!” I thought to myself. “He was going to make the flight!” The team was in place when he
arrived at the gate. With anxious anticipation we awaited our turn to board. I bought a beer and watched Crispian drink his
down rather rapidly.

I remembered an article about Sierra Leone that I wanted to share with Crispian. As we were boarding I reached into my bag
to pull it out, and as I turned to hand it to him, I noticed he didn’t look so good. Just before we stepped through the cabin
door, he became disoriented and suddenly began to collapse. I grabbed him and held him up, pinning him against the wall for
support. “Don’t move!” I told him. I frantically ran down the Jetway and grabbed Dr. Panossian and Antonio before they boarded.

They calmly followed me back to where I had left Crispian. He was still leaning there against the wall of the Jetway. As we
walked him back out into the airport Crispian immediately collapsed to the floor and started to convulse and wet himself.
Dr. Panossian took his pulse. His blood pressure was falling rapidly. We called the paramedics.

I heard, “Last call for boarding,” the announcement that the plane was leaving. It took everything I had not to cancel the
trip. How could I leave not just one, but three good men behind? Antonio assured me that he would take care of everything
and meet us in London. I saw the determination and resolve in his eyes. It was the same look I had seen many times before
playing football together back in Texas.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, still not sure what to do.

Antonio said, “Nothing is going to happen to him on my watch. Now get on that plane.”

I did. Ironically, just as I boarded, my phone rang. I could see in the display that it was Dr. Gene Allen of the trauma ward
at Centinela Hospital. I met Dr. Allen while doing research for my TV show, shadowing him as he made his rounds treating actual
patients. He taught me so much, including how to suture and how to administer intravenous antibiotics. He was calling to wish
me a safe trip to Sierra Leone. The plane was taxiing down the runway, but I answered anyway. The flight attendant immediately
asked me to turn the phone off. I did. But just before the airplane began its ascent I hurriedly turned it back on and texted
Dr. Allen a message: “On runway taxiing on Virgin Atlantic to SL. NAACP attorney collapsed in airport at gate 23A. Had to
leave him behind with my doc and DEA agent. Name is Cris Kirk if he comes thru ur trauma ward.” I pressed the send button
and nothing happened. The plane was now climbing fast. I just sat there staring at the phone hard. “Please God, please send.
Please send. Send now!” I prayed silently to myself.

The frozen text flickered and disappeared. Then a “No Signal” prompter popped up.

Somehow, the text went through.

Needless to say, the flight to London was intense. I had gone from feelings of excitement and anticipation to a controlled
panic. Once we were at cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, I quickly unbuckled my seat belt and went to tell the
rest of the team what had happened. I returned to my seat and made several attempts to call Dr. Panossian on the airplane
phone. I tried ten times in eight hours. The airplane phone never worked.

We couldn’t land at Heathrow Airport in London soon enough. The plane touched down in a pouring rainstorm. The moment we got
off I rushed to a phone to check on Crispian, Antonio, and Dr. Panossian. No answer.

I settled into my hotel room and put in a call to Jenisa. I tried six times to reach her, but there was no answer there either.
Where was she? I was on pins and needles. I had barely slept on the plane and was a nervous wreck. This was not at all how
I pictured this trip would begin.