Like many Americans, Ali had imagined Africa as an exotic land, a vast jungle inhabited by wild animals, noble savages, and great white hunters. Most Americans knew very little about Africa beyond what they saw on-screen or read in magazines. In 1953, when Ali was eleven years old, Time published a feature article about the British Gold Coast that described the colony as “a rectangular patch of jungle, swamp, and bushland,” even though deserts, forests, and rolling savanna grasslands shaped its landscape. The British colony that would eventually become Ghana was nothing more than “a sun-baked wasteland,” filled with “primitive people” living “in holes in the ground; their women go naked with a tuft of leaves before and behind.” According to Time, the “happy-go-lucky Gold Coasters” crowded “their mud huts with radios, sewing machines, bicycles, and even TV sets (though there is no TV station to tune in to).”4
Ali grew up in a culture saturated with myths about Africa. In 1960, during the Rome Olympics, he had compared America favorably to Africa, whose natives, he said, were still fighting alligators and living in mud huts. Unlike Muhammad Ali, Cassius Clay thought very little about Africa and cared even less. In his view, Africans were not a celebrated people; they were the butt of his jokes. In 1962, he told sportswriter Myron Cope a story about an encounter with two African men. “Man,” he chuckled, “I was down at the beach with two of them Africans. They so black they almost blue, but they said to me, ‘Cassius, we have to leave now and go put on our turbans and uniforms ’cause, if we don’t, people gonna think we’re Negroes.’”5
Yet when he accepted the name Muhammad Ali, he embraced the idea of being an African born in America. In Accra, he proudly declared, “I am an African and my proper name is Muhammad Ali. There is greater dignity in my new name” than his slave name. In America, he explained, too many blacks “disgracefully bear the names of our masters.” Echoing Malcolm, he suggested that if “Negroes” could not find justice in America, then they should migrate back to Africa.6
His Pan-African rhetoric pleased Elijah Muhammad. At a time when Malcolm, civil rights leaders, and the national media were criticizing the Nation of Islam, Elijah determined that Ali’s trip abroad would overshadow their attacks, helping him legitimize his Muslim movement. Sending Ali on an international excursion would bring “universal recognition” to the Nation. Before the heavyweight champion left the US, he went on a tour of Black Muslim mosques, where he signed autographs, sold copies of Muhammad Speaks, and announced his future travels, crediting Elijah for his worldwide fame. “It is because I am a follower of The Messenger that has brought me personal invitations from Asia and African Presidents and Prime Ministers.”7
Elijah predicted that Ali would receive a hero’s welcome in Africa and the Middle East, but he reserved profound doubts about the regions. Romanticizing his own journey there in 1959, Elijah embellished the way Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser graciously welcomed him into his palace. While he enjoyed meeting Arab and African statesmen and Muslim clerics, he returned to America disillusioned by the extreme poverty he saw, which he interpreted as a weakness in the people. Before his trip, he had talked about building an emigration movement to Africa, but afterward he ceased considering the plan.8
Years after his trek abroad, he complained that Africans still lived “a jungle life,” deriding them as “savages” in need of his civilizing influence. Although he praised the emergence of independent African nations, he remained uninterested in building any genuine relationships with African leaders. Malcolm was convinced that Elijah had sent Ali to Africa solely for personal gain. “You cannot read anything that Elijah Muhammad has ever written that’s pro-African,” he charged. “I defy you to find one word in his direct writings that is pro-African. You can’t find it.”9
For Elijah, Ali’s journey abroad served as a propaganda mission that he hoped would demonstrate his stature in the Islamic world, elevating his standing among black Americans. During his five-week trip, Ali was accompanied by Muslims and friends, including the champ’s manager, Herbert Muhammad; his brother Rudy, who had recently taken the name Rahman Ali; Archie Robinson, who now introduced himself as Osman Karriem; photographer Howard Bingham; and Ronnie King, an old friend. Herbert also hired Charles P. Howard, a United Nations correspondent, to write stories about Ali’s journey for Muhammad Speaks.10
By the time Ali’s motorcade reached the government-owned, six-story Ambassador Hotel, it seemed as if the entire city was trailing behind it. Countless locals camped outside the hotel, hoping to get a glimpse of him. Not wanting to disappoint them, Ali emerged into view on the terrace, shouting below, “Who’s the king?”
“You are!” the crowd thundered.11