A Visit to Harlem Essay Example

unseen scene. Alas! To my utter disbelief, I found that the noise was in fact coming from Jimmy, my pet dog, barking for what I didn’t see but suddenly, it stopped. Fear encroached me but I had to wake up my dad so as to prepare to set off, towards this long awaited function. Few moon rays crept through my bedroom curtains, which acted as a catalyst of eager, a curious inspiration. I therefore opened my door.

Outside, it was chill cold. Rather for that motley of noise which was coming from our dog, the rest was a sardonic silence. I therefore regained my composure to watch the amazing sky as I tiptoed towards my mother’s house. Except for the few clouds which were seen at the furthest part of the western horizon, the sky was azure. Within a blink of an eye, a sliced moon hung solemnly over the word and gave a reluctant light. A flash after flash of lightening was seen in the sky as if the heavens themselves were staging a gigantic wire mesh display. This made the hair at my back to stand still. After the lightening, a sound was heard, a huge sound of course, from the sky, probably of a thunder or a deluge of rain. Within a while, I was in my father’s door, woke him up with an utmost zeal lest I miss that golden chance. My dad woke up and congratulated me for keeping time. He is always a man of the people who never talks volume for nothing. Actually, silence is golden. Many people paid homage to that.

According to Salenius 5, the sages goes that,

a nice day is seen at down. I therefore expected to find it all nice. Ordered by my dad to go back to my room to dress myself, I had to accept. Was I really going to this legendary place, the Harlem? What would I find there? How long will the bus to reach us? Cartloads of questions were running in my small mind but there was no one near to answer me except the echoes of the flowing wind, followed by an awkward silence. I dressed to kill and finally, we were on our way, walking majestically. We walked in majestically, in haste, exchanging words about our encounter to that place. As I looked sides to sides, I realized that the moon light sank through the emerald leaves of nearby eucalyptus plants, making them to blossom as they wore the yellow white. The swinging of the leaves acted an s a lullaby to all the sleeping villagers. I had to be that keen to everything, creditence to the old adage that a clear sunrise in no guarantee to a cloudless sky.

It did not take long when we found ourselves on at the bus stop. The cars came, running in a mid bungling speed, we boarded and moved. Finally, we were at Harlem, watching the performance of the jazz Album, which was a topic of many in the whole of Europe. We were welcomed by cheers and dancers dressed to kill. My dad secured a seat in front as I followed and sat next to him so as to catch every detail of the event.

The performance was life. I watched Eric Hobusbawn followers dancing to

their fullest, swaying their hips in the left right directions and in repeated motions. the whole place was place was filled to capacity as the boys in blue remained set to ensure no one attacked us in that exclusive palace. The beautiful ladies jumped up and down and down madly, in a clicking combination but still keeping the rhythm which gave it a high hysthetic value. The man sang melodiously feeling our hearts with unfathomable joy. Then a commotion rose from within the crowd, which I thought it was from the curious onlookers but suddenly it was stopped. I grabbed my fathers had, tail between my legs.
Anything which has a beginning must have an end and therefore the cerebrations were coming to an end. I could not believe my eyes that it was ending but it was real. My heart throbbing and my knees buckling, I sat close to my dad. Yes, we were to go back home. I had a story fresh in my mind to explain to my family members and school mates. So sweet was the performance that I kept recalling the whole event in class but could I keep them such that they prevented me from even concentration in class? The whole encounter was sweet but let bygones be bygones.

Work Cited

1. Nicholson, Stuart. Is Jazz Dead?: or has it Moved to a new Address. Routledge, (2014). 7.
2. Salenius, Sirpa. "Marginalized Identities and Spaces James Baldwin’s Harlem, New York." Journal of Black Studies (2016): 5.
3. Wall, Cheryl A. The Harlem Renaissance: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press, (2016): 4.