As President Bush perambulated round Israel in celebration of the 60th anniversary of the creation of the Jewish state, I listened on my public radio to snippets of his speech at the Israeli parliament, the Knesset. I could have written a better speech for Bush. His was the same boring and predictable line of reasoning. Nothing was new and nothing was bold. Even the Hebrew words given to the president to say were beyond his capability to pronounce.

While radio commentators yakked about the Middle East, I pulled into a gas station to buy gas. Like many Americans already hurting from the soaring price of gas, I paid with a credit card. As the attendant brought my card back and a receipt for me to sign, he looked at my name and said to me, “When is he coming back?”

I was confused. He sensed my confusion because he quickly rephrased his question, “When is your friend, Adolf, coming back?”

In just few seconds, it clicked. I am Rudolf and my friend is supposedly Adolf, as in Adolf Hitler. I wanted to protest that I was named after Rudolf Diesel and not Rudolf Hess but before I could say a word, the attendant bent his head towards my car window and said in a low tone, “The Jews are everywhere again. They are the problem with this world. Hitler should come back and finish them off this time.”

I have read about hate. I have heard about hate. I have seen the devastation hate caused. But I have never seen the face of hate live. This wasn’t a picture in a newspaper or faces on TV. This man stood right there in front of me. Until now, this sixty something year old Pakistani man had been pleasant and cheerful whenever I pulled in to buy gas. Never have I thought that he harbored in his heart a hideous hatred for the Jewish people.

Apparently, the attendant thought I was a safe candidate for him to reveal himself to because I am black and my name is Rudolf. It wouldn’t even have made sense if I had been white and of German decent.

“I tell you, Hitler is coming back,” he continued, obviously misreading the blankness of my face.

Clearly, the attendant had never asked himself the following questions: What if Jews are also black? And what if they answer the name Rudolf?

Incidentally, I hail from the ethnic group called the Igbo, in Eastern part of Nigeria. The Igbo have been called the Jews of Africa for many reasons. In Nigeria, the Igbo are seen as the only problem with Nigeria. There continues to be well orchestrated efforts to discriminate, decimate and destroy the Igbo in Nigeria. From 1967-1970, the Igbo were fought by all of Nigeria as they sought for independence following a pogrom that was aimed at wiping them out. It was a war that the rest of Nigeria called “The Final Solution to the Igbo Problem.” No wonder they used everything, including starvation as a weapon.

Like the Jews, the Igbo are accused of being everywhere, dominating commerce, business and education. The Igbo industriousness has continued to be interpreted as a character flaw for which they must be eliminated. At every interval and for trivial reasons, the Igbo are killed in several parts of Nigeria.

For the period when the Biafran nation survived, the Igbo through their innovations and ingenuities showed that when allowed to operate without hindrance, they have in them the skills needed to create a prosperous and modern African nation just like the Jews have done in the Middle East.

In spite of all the restrictions placed on their path, the Igbo have continued to survive and prosper. They still hope to get back a country of their own separate from the British creation called Nigeria. Just like the Igbo nation used to be before the British came, the Igbo still hope to return to their republican society that have enjoyed true representative democracy for centuries.

During the Biafran war, the popular slogan for the Igbo was that, “he who is surrounded by enemies must be vigilant.” It is a mantra that the Jewish state has embraced. For the Igbo and many others who have faced annihilation while the rest of the world watched, Israel symbolizes hope and the reward for tenacity.

So I gathered myself, looked up at the gas station attendant, his face lightened up by bigotry and I said to him, “I am Jewish, too.” He did not hear me. He had walked over to another customer who pulled up behind me.