But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
“Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,
Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,
Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,
Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare.”
For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.
Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over his little head. And this little baby didn’t wear anything at all except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older he saw that they didn’t wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this was queer,—not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked and dressed like that.
But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,
“O túla, mntwána, O túla,
Unyóko akamúko,
Uséle ezintabéni,
Uhlú shwa izigwégwe,
Iwá.
O túla, mntwána, O túla,
Unyóko w-zezobúya,
Akupatéle ínto enhlé,
Iwá.”
For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.