You might be wondering what some of the other Africans do in town, those who choose to face up to the difficult task of finding an honest living wage, not hustle. Those who turn their backs to the street and make a brave go of it as part of the legions of working stiffs who populate our city streets.

Here is a list of the more common Prague jobs I've seen black people do besides promoting nightclubs:


1) Casino doormen: A handful of popular casinos dot Prague's downtown area, doubling as strip joints and, less frequently, ritzy sex clubs. A doorman will be dressed in tacky period costume: a gaudy-colored cape (traditionally a stark shade of red), homburg hat, a steel-tipped black cane, and spats. It's a more dignified hustle than what's to be found on the street, as the doorman's only had to shepherd in interested parties into the casino's bowels among those who cross his path. You can find these on high-class Prikopy street or Pařížská boulevard or near Wenceslas Square, areas of heavy tourist traffic all-year long.

Doormen are minimal labor positions, unlike street men who are constantly on the move nabbing clients. They tolerate fewer insults. They always have the option to safely retreat inside the club's doors when there's inclement weather. Best of all, it's a fixed address they can return to every day without fail. A very cushy alternative to the street.

The major drawback about the doorman's position is it's a considerably lower-wage job given the ease of finding clients from their permanently fixed positions instead of roving across wider zones like their street-grifting cousins.


2) Club coachmen: Coachmen are dressed in perfect period garb, similar to doormen. I'll never forget the first time I'd seen a Prague coachman (have you ever seen a black man clad in 19th-century period attire?). Coachmen interrupt your gait towards Old Town Square as they attempt to deliver you inside one of the nearby nightclubs who pay their wage. Prepare to get harassed as you run the gauntlet from the lower end of Wenceslas Square, past the flea market on Havelská, down along Melantrichova and around the bend angling right, where at least five nightclubs strung together in a row await your business. If you look anything the part of the tourist or foreigner, you're doomed. Expect to get propositioned once every few feet.


3) Security guards: Security guards come in several varieties. First, there are the hulking monstrosities of human flesh guarding the turnstile-d gateways belonging to some of the newer supermarkets down around the Inner District. Take the new Billa on Vodičkova between the Wenceslas Square and Palackého street, for example. I believe the colossus on duty there is Angolan, and every time I swing by to shop, I always give him "the nod" or "the handshake," my way of acknowledging his existence and thanking him for it. I've noticed him sulking off in a corner as he manhandles his cellphone keypad, the big brute appearing rather unsure how to pass these idle hours since -- a) no one's going to rob this subterranean food store and b) he's unable to work as anything in town with his present rudimentary understanding of the Czech language.

Then you've got the security personnel guarding the armored trucks delivering and picking up cash from the Inner District's ATM machines. These are the meatheads, but the dangerous part is that these beefcakes pack heat. I've noticed one guy doing this job at least twice in recent weeks, usually in middle of the day.

I've tried understanding the psychological underpinnings of the job, too. Here the African in question must think: "Hey, most Czechs are downright intimidated by blacks, aren't they? They're tentative and uncertain around us and don't know quite what to expect, so why don't I use this fact to my advantage? I'll use my immense size to land me a job no Czech really takes seriously. And if I can continue polishing up my spoken Czech to a workable level, I can start issuing instructions to my direct reports. Perhaps this is even the best way to slowly claw my way up the Czech managerial ladder?


4) Exchange kiosk clerks: You find these all over town, catering to the exchange needs of the touring thousands simultaneously descending on Prague to photograph the Austrian-financed glories that comprise our so-called "Czech" heritage sites. Czechs don't change their money here, well-aware of the con which is the city's foreign exchange kiosk (preferring instead to exchange their cash at banks and similarly reputable firms). This being the case, the linguistic requirements for the clerk's job typically do not include Czech, ideal for the university-educated African unable to land a spot at a more traditional Czech company. I this to be the case from personal experience.

As word of the ease of landing such a job percolates throughout Prague's African community, expect to see the number of black kiosk employees rise.


5) Nightclub owners: When I began here back in 2002, one spot my friends and I liked to wind up our evenings at was the Marquis de Sade. Originally owned by an American castaway during the "Wild Nineties" heyday in the city, Sade had been sold at a certain point to Nigerian "P-Daddy," a pleasant proprietor who made a point of making all his customers feel right at home. P-Daddy would swing by all the tables in this huge place, shake everyone's hand individually, and introduce himself personally to every patron -- a classy touch in a city of Czech suicidal nihilists.


6) Ethnic products shops: Here again, hats off to the intrepid Nigerians for taking the initiative to found businesses which cater to the idiosyncratic needs of their growing constituency. From plantains, to cassava leaves, to goat meat, to rice, to okra, to spices uncommon in the Czech diet and unavailable in local stores, to magazines, to periodicals, to audio cassettes, to phone cards, everything in these shops originated from Africa for Africans. Two shops like this existed in Prague (last time I'd checked) -- one in Prague 4's "South City," or Jižní mĕsto in the local parlance, at the city's southern reaches, the another on Spálená ("burned") street close to Prague's historical center. These shops would also house internet cafés and copy centers, which were patronized by Czech clients as well. Douh did most of his shopping here.


7) Restaurant hustling: Similar to the Casino Doormen, these are the nattily-dressed Africans standing outside the downtown core's swanky restaurants, beckoning passers-by to enter.


8) Street hustling: Once the exclusive domain of the gypsies and other expatriates in Prague, I witnessed something remarkable upon my return to Prague following a three-year hiatus I thought I'd never see -- tens of blacks congregating near the well-trodden "T" intersection where Wenceslas Square meets Na Můstku, Na Příkopĕ, and 28. října (28th of October) streets. If you looked anything touristic, seemed in any way lost, or just naive enough to get entangled in this swarm of humanity slicing your way across the square, you would be likely bombarded by "offers." You'd take the flier, give it a look, toss it, and move on.


9) Prostitutes: Sadly, the Africans have become involved game in this too. I'd been approached in the street once -- in Italian -- by a stunning Senegalese hooker who seemed completely baffled when I'd responded to her question in American-inflected English. Seems as though Czechs aren't the only one up to profiling now, are they?

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Once I begin seeing blacks (not African-Americans here on contract from the US) working in Czech offices, showing up for morning coffee around the water cooler, or running to avoid being late for the morning train, I'll know immigration policy in the Czech Republic will have taken a turn for the better.

For now, Czechs have no better excuse than their Western European cousins for keeping the darker members of their society permanently downtrodden through socially-neutral glass ceilings set at obscenely low levels of achievement.


(excerpted from A Sad and Tragic Tale of Mister Douh, by Adam Daniel Mezei)