Thoughts on "Not African Enough in Africa"
Friday, April 13, 2012 at 4:02AM For some time, I’ve had a policy of not commenting on the posts I write. As a writer, I choose my words carefully, so that each conveys what I intend. Readers may take my meaning from it, or they may not. Each person brings their perspective to the screen and that naturally effects how they receive the message. I learned many years ago that you can never really tell how a piece will go over with an audience.
That said, I’m not at all that surprised that most of the comments on “Not African Enough in Africa” were, well… such a clusterf**k. Several years ago, I wrote a two-part series about the sometimes conflicts between Africans, African-Americans and Caribbeans. I revealed some less than flattering comments that had been said to me about Americans from some Caribbeans and then spoke of some ignorant things I’d picked up as a child about Africans. Like “Not African Enough in Africa”, that story hit a lot of exposed nerves, revealed some ugly truths and opened many wounds. The comments section got ugly. After hundreds of replies to each post, I closed the comment section just to end all the insults (and not just at me, but at other commenters) and in-fighting. After that, I stayed away from similar topics. I knew the issues discussed were a deep problem. And I didn’t have a solution or see a way of effectively talking it out or through it, especially when, just like the Clutch post, people were reading what they wanted to see, not what was there. So I figured the topic was better left alone.
I decided to write “Not African Enough in Africa” because it was something that I’d been thinking about, even before I headed to South Africa in January. (As many of you know, I’ve been writing a book about my travels over the last few months, sort of a Black Girl’s “Eat, Pray, Love”.) Four years ago, a co-worker had returned from Ghana and had a similar experience to the one I would in South Africa, which is to say she loved the country, loved the people, loved the culture, but she didn’t “fit” the way she thought she would. She’d headed from the East Coast to West Africa hoping to see the slave castles and to duck and wobble her way through the Door of No Return, just as, so the mythology goes, her ancestors had centuries before. And she did that.
But she’s Black American like me. And though she had her “full circle” moment in Ghana, she’d also over-hyped what her experience would be. She expected to “fit”, not in the sense that an old woman at a market would spot her, hold her face and declare her exact tribe and ancestry (that’s a Black American urban legend, so you know), but that she would sort of blend into the rhythm of Accra. She’d learned the greetings, and the proper way to address elders, the modest way to dress to show respect.
She noticed while she was there that everyone called her a name, one she couldn’t find in all the translation guides she’d brought with her. Someone finally translated it for her: clear. She was heartbroken. She wasn’t some Black American expecting to be “declared Mama Africa” as a commenter on Clutch put it, or as another said, that all of Africa “ stopped living to mourn your loss and will feel this sense of relief when you return.” She expected to fade into the background, to be just another link in the chain while she got giddy in her head about all the Black people everywhere – and in power!-- and go unnoticed.
I approached South Africa a similar way, reading travel guides and books, which had to be searched out. Most American guides to South Africa are about safaris, apartheid museums and if you’re lucky Cape Town. Jozi is snuck in as an international fly-thru to get to Durban or Cape Town. Most of the Jozi information I found was warnings to beware of the great danger and all the places you should avoid.
I’m not sure how the idea that I showed up in South Africa as an “ugly American” took hold, a popular sentiment among commenters. I showed up open, giddy about everything, from driving on the left for the first time to the bookstores that overflowed with magazines that featured Black people on the cover to actually just being in “O.M.G. Africa!” I gushed on Twitter and twit-pic’d to share with my followers. I was frustrated as f*** about the Internet situation—ie, the friend I was staying with didn’t have wi-fi and my AT&T plan, the one I paid extra for, didn’t work on the whole continent. That’s a problem, when you have a story due the following morning, and it’s a stateside problem as well. Other than the chick with the sunglasses, that’s the only thing I was really annoyed by. Everything else was observations and revelations.
More than anything, I just wanted to see people, do whatever it was they did. See as much as I could of a place that I’d been wanting to go to since I was 10. I watched and observed and when I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I asked a million questions. An ugly American? Hardly. I was gushing and marveling at near everything, but not everything. I’m not a publicist.
But an American? Definitely. Just like I can spot a New York tourist (or a fresh New Yorker, they’re just too damn nice) immediately, South Africans could spot me as an American. I can spot a visitor or newbie in the way they move, the details of how they put their clothes together. There’s a South African “style” in the same way one exists for Paris or London or Brooklyn. And I didn’t have it. The same can be said for my features. Some people I met looked exactly like Black Americans, most didn’t. Why would they when they’re not Black Americans? I look like a Black American. I don’t understand why there was contention over that observation.
Maybe I should have gushed more in the initial piece so people who are used to their home – South Africa, or Africa in general-- being shat upon by Americans would know that what I was writing wasn't one of "those" stories. That’s the only reason I can fathom that so many commenters created sentences and sentiments that didn’t exist in what I wrote. As some commenters pointed out, there really wasn't anything to jump to the defense for or go into attack mode over. I thought about adding some superfluous lines, but I don’t write press releases or travel guides. That also wasn’t the point.
For clarity, “Not African Enough in Africa” was written to debunk the myths that Black Americans are sold about Africa. Not the stuff about it being populated with huts, bloated babies and people chucking spears; a Google search can take care of that. But another myth, one that’s not often talked about, but can really screw people up when they’re dreaming of some place called “Home” like Stephanie Mills and you find out it doesn’t exist.
Many Black Americans suspend logic to imagine there’s a place on the other side of the Atlantic where they “belong” since so many don’t feel that happens here. The desire for a place where you feel like you just are allows for logic to be defied. People do it in bad relationships and over absentee fathers every day. I don’t understand why it’s so surprising in this context. It’s not logic. It’s not ignorant. It’s hope for something better than the hand you’ve been dealt, an idea that keeps you going much like Christianity’s promise of suffering in life and getting your rewards at the pearly gates. If you don’t have that, then what? (That’s actually where I was hoping the conversation would go. Eh. All good though.)
The mythology and reality that allow for the suspended logic are literally the first 500 words of “Not African Enough in Africa”. The next 700 expose the knee-slapping joke that’s been had on Black Americans who hold up all of Africa and any part of Africa as our specialized Motherland. We’re Americans who are Black and that’s all. The story was in no way an indictment of what’s wrong with South Africa or Africa in general (if I thought it sucked specifically or generally, I’d just say that.) I could have spoken greetings in all 10 of South Africa’s other official languages (and none of them would have enabled me to answer a question about sunglasses) and I could have been in Ghana or Nigeria, or Tanzania or any other country in the world and I wouldn’t “fit” because squares don’t fit in circles. That there are Black Americans who are willing to try is an indictment of what’s wrong with America, a problem that I only picked up on when I got to South Africa and realized no, really, this “I’m so American” feeling isn’t just what happens when I travel thru the UK and Europe. That’s really just what I am, no hyphen necessary to pay homage to roots that were severed. My bad, I was bamboozled, maybe I just wanted to be.
Realizing that didn’t ruin my trip though. It didn’t turn me off to South Africa, the continent of Africa or any of Her other countries, a popular yet baffling sentiment in the Clutch comments section that was in no way even implied in the story, especially as I’ve already started hounding a friend to take me to Lagos with him when he goes to visit his fam in December. I loved South Africa, I just won't be going back there, or any other place, searching for needles in haystacks.
My trip to Africa was the sh**. I made friends. I went to great parties. I stood in clouds. I saw breathtaking views. I got a song trapped in my head that I still can’t get out. I had a great time that I shared with a lot of people. I liked Jozi so much I looked at real estate. Oh, and I dropped the “African-“ from the way I identify myself. I’d say that’s a great trip.
Reader Comments (17)
I liked your article. I liked your response. There are so many feelings I experienced reading your articles. You see; I'm a first generation Canadian of Nigerian descent. I'm not African American and I wasn't born in Nigeria. Amongst my friends I was strange. Upon meeting Africans they assume I'm everything else but....and my name is the marker. My father was always very strict about 'knowing where you come from". So when I took my first trip to Nigeria 4 years ago after tons of traveling to other countries, I was given a course by my mother on how to greet and what to say and how to dress. (I'm often referred to as 'white acting or not Nigerian enough' by my parents) even though I can cook the food and understand their language)
I arrived to stay for two months and met extended family only to hear comments in my parents language that they didn't expect me to look so dark(?) or that they thought I'd be fat (because "Americans" tend to be fat) American used for North America in general. I learned so much about their perception of me. I went to a local Lagos pharmacy looking for sunscreen and the pharmacist told me "We don't do that here". When I know I burn badly in the sun lol. I used my greetings and genuflections with the Elders who visited only to be told "You should just be yourself! We know your Canadian. Just speak English". They enjoyed my banter. After the family reunions and village stays I returned to the city and pulled out my Lonely Planet Guide and asked to be driven to museum A,B,C to be told that "we don't do that here" lol. They do exist but I guess to some that's tourist behaviour.
There are so many memories I can reflect on. I realized that although I'm African. Whether I choose to act like or not, my -isms still make me stick out. Everyone's experiences are different! Thanks for sharing yours in this article!
Belle- I don't understand the need to "fit" in a country someone is visiting. I migrated to the U.S. 21 years ago and I still don't feel like I fit in. I am Jamaican, If I visited Africa I would not feel the need to fit in. I am there to explore and experience the country and culture.
I understand where Demetria is coming from on this one. Being born and raised in America and being treated for generations as second class citizens by the majority in this country, many of us, Black Americans, sometimes set out with somewhat lofty ideas that maybe some place outside will embrace us as its own. I stop identifying myself as African-American in high school because I'm not technically from any country in Africa and neither are my parents. I'm sure tracing my history back further enough would lead me to the continent of Africa but as of right now I'm okay with knowing for the last few centuries my family has been primarily in Georgia and Alabama. No matter how I feel about where I'm from or if it will ever see me as more than a minority, America, with all of its flaws and defects, is still home. I am an American who was born black. I have to own that and be okay with it.
Sidenote: After writing this, I was thinking what is the perspective of other Black Americans in terms of the idea of "I am an American who was born black" versus "I'm a black person who was born in America"? Thoughts anyone?
I liked your article and I also liked your response. My situation is in no way the same, but the concept of identification is similar. I was born in Angola, and therefore am Angolan, but I have lived abroad for most of my life. And for the first time in 23 years I am home at last.
Compared to the norm in Angola I sometimes perceived as a foreign Angolan. And your article has helped me reflect and accept my unique ways, and that it doesn't make me any less of an African, or in this case Angolan. After all it is our experiences that shape and mold us as individuals.
I can be Angolan, and me at the same time. In fact to be Angolan, is a part of who I am as are the other things that make up my being. Great response, and I thoroughly enjoy reading your stuff.
People don’t realize for the most part culture is far more pervasive (and thus more distinguishing) than race is. If you stuck a white American in Germany, he may see a bunch of other white faces around but generally speaking he’s gonna feel just as lost or disconnected as a black American would. Culture usually trumps race. If you didn’t realize that then we weren’t paying enough attention.
The head scratcher for me with this article is I don’t get how the expectation of “feeling at home” was birthed. Based on her comments it doesn’t sound like the author is the first generation born American child of African-born parents (as am I).if she were I’d give her the benefit of the doubt for being disappointed that Africa didn’t feel as “welcoming”. But if that’s not the case, then of course you would feel like an outsider. Even I, as a first generation American born to African parents, do not hold the expectation of completely fitting in; yes to some degree I have the expectation of fitting, but that’s because of my parents; but that expectation is tempered (as it should be) because I was not raised there - so the notion of immediately or seamlessly fitting in would be naïve of me, and even more so naïve of someone whose direct lineage is not connected to Africa. To expect that it would feel like “home” is very misguide - you should expect to feel like an outsider, mainly because…you are. That shouldn’t be a newsflash. Hell, I’m from New York, born and raised, and there are parts of New York that make me feel like an outsider (ever been up to Rochester?). And in the same vein, a black person born in a northeast city like NYC can feel like a complete outsider when visiting the black rural south. So if that’s plausible, why wouldn’t this author foresee it happening when visiting a foreign land that’s halfway across the world? That’s the part that loses me. Most people of reasonable perspective would know “hey I'm here visiting, this isn't my culture or my country” and therefore would of course expect to feel like an outsider. To expect otherwise is a naïve, misguided proposition. It’s also a visit -it’s not a relocation where after 2 years of being a South African permanent resident the author has these feelings. Of course on a week or two visit you wouldn’t seamlessly feel like its home. If u decided to settle there permanently, than this article may be worth writing if you still felt marginalized. But in all likelihood you (and anyone else not born there for that matter) would fit in a lot better if you made a permanent home there. But if u are literally passing thru on a visit why would u expect it to feel like home? Hell, I visit Los Angeles for days at a time and feel like an alien. But if I relocated to LA I’m sure that feeling would dissipate over time.
Other thing that made this an "interesting" read was the title - it suggests someone pondering “what, I’m not African enough for you?” Why would you ponder whether you are African enough if…you aren’t African? Its’ like someone coming here from Russia to visit America for 2 weeks and that Russian titling an article “not American enough for America”. He’s Russian, not American, so why even ponder such a thought? For example, if a black person ponders “am I black enough” that’s one thing, but if a non-black person writes “am I black enough” it throws the reader off a bit. So similarly, why would a non-African ponder whether he or she is African enough? That part I didn’t get. You shouldn’t ponder whether you are African enough when one, you arent African, and two, that question comes as a result of a 2 week visit. And let’s face it, if we saw an article written by a South African visiting America for 2 weeks with the title, “Not American Enough for America” it would make us scratch our heads - so why would it make sense for such an article to work in reverse? Also, I recognize this dynamic is unique to us as black folk, but if a white American writer felt unwelcome in Ireland I'd doubt he'd write a goofy article titled "Not European Enough in Europe". So the title here needs work to suit what I guess is the premise, because it does throw you off. In fact my suggestion would be the more apropos title for this article is “Incredibly Naïve Black American Bought The Dream When They Sold Her One And Was Therefore Shocked And Dismayed That She Didn’t Quite Fit In On Her 2 Week Visit To South Africa”. Now that has more symmetry with the article. And I won’t even claim infringement if it’s used. I promise.
Belle, love ya like a fat kid loves cake... but why would you think you would immediately fit or feel at home in the first place? You don't know the language, nor the culture. So to have that expectation doesn't make sense. Africa is like a long-distance cousin. You know y'all are related some how, some way... but you haven't met. But once you meet, you familiarize yourself with your long-distance cousin, because at the end of the day you know that's your family. That's the outlook/expectation people should have.
@Lisa, @CA @Lady Blue
I don't know how better to explain the sentiment that African-Americans feel toward Africa other than I already have in this post and the initial one. No, it doesn't logically make sense. But perhaps you have to feel like your actual home isn't such to get it. I don't believe anyone has taken the time to read and write a lengthy comment to be willfully obtuse. I think because you don't have this particular void to be filled that even when you try, you don't get how anyone could overlook the obvious. Perhaps you noticed through the Clutch comments that readers either got it completely or wondered, "what the hell is she talking about?" I get your side completely, try to accept the explanation for how it can happen.
i think i put it best here: "Many Black Americans suspend logic to imagine there’s a place on the other side of the Atlantic where they “belong” since so many don’t feel that happens here. The desire for a place where you feel like you just are allows for logic to be defied. People do it in bad relationships and over absentee fathers every day. I don’t understand why it’s so surprising in this context. It’s not logic. It’s not ignorant. It’s hope for something better than the hand you’ve been dealt, an idea that keeps you going much like Christianity’s promise of suffering in life and getting your rewards at the pearly gates."
@CA, I have contemplated moving along with my significant other. I really enjoyed SA, specifically Jozi, and we looked at real estate. But I won't be doing so with the expectation of seeking a replacement for "home."
If my thought was defensive like "what, I'm not African enough for you?" I would have just written that. the "Not African Enough in Africa" was the sentiment I felt, one that for me perfectly described my arc of of thinking that as an "AFRICAN-American" it was worth giving a shot to the "African" since the "American" part wasn't working out so well. There's a piece worth being written entitled, "Not American Enough for America" by a Black American too. I'll take that title over the one you suggested. Thanks for the offer. I'm good. ;-)
"if we saw an article written by a South African visiting America for 2 weeks with the title, “Not American Enough for America...”
It's just not the same. Africans on the continent of Africa aren't called "American" in any way. You don't search for a home because you feel foreign and unaccepted in your own. If you did, I would get how the story you describe could be written.
"If a white American writer felt unwelcome in Ireland I'd doubt he'd write a goofy article titled "Not European Enough in Europe".
yeah, they would. it was alluded to in the comments that Americans who hyphenate with another nationality, don't always feel like they fit and they go back to their "home"land. Most of the commenters who said they got what I was getting at were first-generation kids of immigrants or Black Americans.
@Lisa the reference to a long-lost cousin is appropriate. and maybe my expectation was for all the reasons I listed AND the way I approach family. when i meet new cousins, we link arms and get to know each other. we're family. period. I wasn't so naive to expect a homecoming celebration, but I would have liked very much to fit neatly. If anything, that's more of a compliment to Africa than a diss at Her. I met great people who were just plain cool folk. we hung out a lot. But that kinship that many Black Americans say they've felt upon visiting for the same amount of time or lesser, I just didn't find. And I very much did want to.
I didn’t think anything was wrong with your original article on Clutch. I was so confused as to why people were so upset. It was your experience and perspective. As a first generation American, I understand the sense of wanting to feel “at home”. I felt the way you did when visiting Barbados and even South Africa as well. Despite this feeling I travel to these places to learn as much as I can, and just enjoy my time as the locals do. The feeling never goes away but I just show my appreciation of knowing/learning of where I came from.
I enjoyed this “Thoughts...” blog…but it was only needed for those readers who needed you to break it all the way down. For the rest of us…we got it.
Thanks!
Fair enough re: the title. Just seemed like you answered your own question with the first two words of the title (“not African” – i.e., someone “not African” shouldn’t expect to feel like an African in Africa). But understood.
Believe me I get where you are coming from about feeling like a wanderer without a genuine home. I get it. But I don’t think that void (which many blacks feel, including myself) breeds or justifies someone "expecting" Africa to feel like “home”. Hoping is one thing, expectation is quite another. But if that "void" primarily explains why you expected Africa to feel like home, then many of us who experience that void would carry that same naïveté – but yet tons of us don’t. In fact one could argue that the average black person who knows America is not completely theirs also knows Africa ain’t theirs either – hence the conundrum of feeling without a home. So they don’t carry the expectation that Africa will feel any more welcoming (and certainly not on a week or two visit). One of my thoughts reading it were “why would Africa feel any more like your land than say, Mexico or Canada? Why, because black people live there?”. Because if you don’t have a lineage to or connection there (other than what I presume is an ancestral connection) then you should be an outsider - regardless of whether you long for it to be home, it can't be. That’s just reality - which is why I think it has less to do with a void and more so with some over-romanticized propaganda that you were suckered into (which in fairness, you did allude to).
Also, while I think the void of feeling like you don’t have a “home” was one basis for your expectations, I think what really contributed to your expectations was you may have overlooked (as many people do) the fact that culture - not race - is generally the strongest tie that binds. I think those of us who expressed bewilderment that a black American could hold such unrealistic expectations probably assumed you knew that culture often prevails over race in that regard.
But...much respect to you either way. And if you do decide to move permanently (my sister and her husband/kids relocated there for work 2 yrs ago) then I can assure you it will eventually begin to feel like “home”, even if you have no direct lineage to South Africa. And if after becoming a permanent South African resident you still don’t feel as welcomed, then I think the premise of this article is worth revisiting. But til then I do think it’s a premature sentiment, especially in light of the fact that you basically parachuted onto a foreign soil for 15 minutes.
I understand the feeling of searching for that "place" called home, a place where you "fit". Somewhere where you can be yourself. It's like the feeling when you meet someone and you just click instantly, but instead of a person, it's just a place, or the idea of a place. I had these ideas in my head when I met my father for the first time. That we would just click, things would be right with the world again, and the void I felt would just disappear. But it wasn't anything like that at all, far from the ideas and "fairytale-ish" thinking. I was born and raised in St. Thomas, left when I was 17. I've been in NYC for 7 years and I don't feel like this is "home" like this somewhere that's mine, somewhere I click. I go back to St. Thomas, and I don't feel like that is home either, although that is where I'm from. I have been working on my family tree for several years and have come in contact and met long lost family members, and I got the idea that when we met we were going to have this "moment" (something like when Ms. Seally finally saw her sister again in the color purple ending. but it never came. I agree with Belle, we hear (or read) people's experiences about this longing for "home" (like Alex Hailey and his experience in Africa, and Roots) and we are told ideas and fantasies about what "home" will be like. Just like Christians and Heaven (streets paved of gold, precious stones all around, a place of many mansions, etc) and it builds. But the issue isn't the reality of Africa (or whatever your dream city is), or the people you've been dreaming of meeting (and the reality of who they are), it's really about the dreaming and the longing and the ideas we've been told to believe in, to hope for. Belle is right. we've been sold a dream, not reality. Marcus Garvey and his back to Africa movement, Malcolm X and his pilgrimage to Mecca. why are people pretending that Belle is the first person who had an idea about something/someplace and then having to deal with the reality of things? it happens everyday. That dream job/career that turns out to be anything but. I think this "home", this concept of a place to fit, isn't a physical place or destination. but something reconciled within ourselves. Henry Miller once said "One's destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things." I think belle just found her destination.
Either you get it or you don't. If you don't get it, instead of rushing to judgment, ask clarifying questions or simply state that you don't quite understand where the author is coming from. That would be a more rational way of going about it than throwing anathemas at the sister. It is a psychological necessity to dream of a place where you'd feel at home for an individual that has been relegated to second-class status or has never felt entirely and wholly at home in his or her country due to specific historico-cultural circumstances.
It is precisely the feeling of foreigness in one's own country that creates this longing and yearning for a place to call "home". For the overwhelming majority of African Americans wrestling with feelings of social rejection coupled with the natural desire to return to the lands of their ancestors, the African continent is conceptualized as a place of acceptance, a place where they'd feel at home and would be socially accepted.
This predicament is not unique to AAs. For example, French people of North African descent (Moroccan, Algerian and Tunisian), who have been marginalized, ostracized and reduced to a simple "national minority", consider their parents' respective countries to be a sort of "homeland". Only to realize, during their sojourn, that they don't completely fit in over there either.
Society views them as being first and foremost "French" and totally uprooted. French back home but North African in France. The difference, though, is that they have direct ties to those lands, a direct connection through their parents but the psychological processes are the same.
Concerning her naïveté, she alluded to it herself in her article. Without wanting to romanticize the way in which African Americans view other human beings, particularly other blacks, it IS very fraternalistic in nature. Meaning that, for AAs, culture is secondary, Their "shared humanity" in general and to a slighter measure, when dealing with other blacks "racial belonging", is placed, on their scale of values, at the top. Their vision of humanity transcends cultural differences. There is this deeply ingrained notion that the power of racial affinity trumps that of cultural affinity.
Of course this is a bit naïve, considering that most of the world grants more importance to culture as opposed to race, if of course you believe in the concept of race. This vision of humanity as being a global family and Africans as being part of their own family, is totally divorced from reality. Because once again, people tend to associate based on cultural affinities and a shared set of cultural values.
Of course there are Africans out there who hold views similar to those held by AAs but I don't think it's the majority. This is perfectly understandable. Historically, Africans didn't see themselves as being a collective nor as being a single racial unit, as the concept of race didn't exist. There was no common struggle stemming from the perception that African peoples are under attack and should unite beyond cultural differences in a spirit of racial solidarity. Of course Pan-Africanism introduced a new set of ideals and values.
So it would be naïve of any AA to believe that they are going to be treated as long lost brothers and sisters by virtue of having similar skin complexion, which perhaps is very superfiicial but understandable in light of AA history.
In closing, i'd like to point out that not all AAs have the same experiences in Africa. Some have been embraced as a distant brother or sister, whereas others, like the author, arrived at the conclusion that Africa cannot offer them what they've always dreamt of: a place to call home.
They come back to the States armed with the profound conviction that America may not be perfect but it's the only place they can genuinely call home.
This is simply my understanding of her article
Hello Demetria, could you please share your definition of what it means to be "African"? I will greatly appreciate your response. Thanks.
@ Belle I hope you don't take the comments to heart, especially those commenters who identified themselves as African. (read: I'm a child of African immigrants).
I think that folks labeling you as an "ugly American," (and I'm sure you're not) is really about people projecting a stereotype that they hold on you without taking the time to understand the nuances of who you are and your experience.
Oddly enough is what many Africans accuse Americans and the West in general of doing them.
Personally I think that there is a lot of potential for cultivating community within the diaspora between American blacks, Africans living on the continent, and other members of the diaspora in Latin America, North America, and Europe. We're all connected, I mean think about it: the son of a man from Kenya broke the ultimate colorline in America; an election that American-born blacks said enabled them to really believe that the opportunity of America actually extended to them.
But in order to build community we need to get over petty arguments and name calling and acknowledge how dynamic cultural identity is.
An African-American who is disappointed over not being received in a fraternal manner in Africa isn't someone who is ignorant, they are just someone in the midst of having a new intercultural experience.
This isn't the most helpful comment. I am so annoyed that people can't understand what you are saying. The words are coming out clear and explained and yet people respond as though you haven't said anything(or rather have said the EXACT opposite). I read the clutch article and most of the comments until I had had enough. Let me say, I HEAR you. Thank you for your patience and willingness to keep trying - that is where the hard work is.
I like this response the best. Especially the part about looking in Sokoto for what you already have in shokoto. It is my thought that if many descendent Africans in the diaspora look within themselves and their true cultural heritage even in America and despite all the imposed distortions, omissions, obfuscations etc. that have been visited upon it, we are still at our core "African" people. As the late Malcolm X once said, 'just because a kitten was born in an oven doesn't mean you call it a biscuit.'
Our sister came to our geographical homeland already as a Black American, from what she described in her perspective of, and expectation for what it was going to be like. "Black" just being a color that references a racial classification but does not denote any cultural distinction per say. Those who adopt this label, within the context of simply a racial designation have apparently divorced themselves from the undeniable heritage that our ancestors have bequeathed to us, all be it distorted perhaps, through no fault of our own and whether we acknowledge it or not. It is this cultural heritage that makes us "African" not just "Black". It is the assimilation into the value system of this hegemonic Western paradigm, particularly the American model, that makes us "Black-American". This is what I think is the crux of our issues with self-identity. We are confusing a number of constructs, namely Nationality, Ethnicity and Culture. Each of these can be subdivided even further but for the sake of brevity I will just say this; in all of the comments on this particular article I've not seen anyone present the argument from the indigenous cultural perspective. Within this context, culture is synonymous with values, which are assembled and devised out of the way human beings of that group perceive themselves and their purpose in regard to the larger environment and their place within the harmony of existence and the Divine world.
Hence, by that definition, culture is fundamentally rooted in a people's cosmogony - the story of their beginnings and origins. This in turn shapes a people's paradigm, which defines the limitations of their world view - what is possible or not and what is doable and not. These taboos lead to the development of traditions, etiquette and protocol that become the expression of those people's identity, by means of various disciplines, arts, crafts, rituals, ceremonies, music etc. Now careful and earnest seeking to find a place called home would have us look for the parallels between African American expressive channels and that of our sisters and brothers on the geographical homeland called Africa today. The similarities are undeniable. This is the first and most apparent link that we have to our right to call ourselves "African" outside of the superficial criteria of sharing the same skin color.
I say, we must look for the "African" in the "African-American" to find the first crumbs on the path that will lead us home, not discard the designation for reasons of not knowing what to look for when you walk into a house that use to be your home. If you walk into a house that used to be your home and don’t remember the items, details and nuances that made it your home, it will just feel like a house to you. It might be nicely decorated with both old and new things but neither will make a difference to you if you have no memory of it. You will find this memory deep within yourself and if your heart is in the right place no matter where you go on this planet, a place where you can walk forever and never reach the end, you will find your home.
i understood where Demetria was coming from. Both of my parents are Nigerian, but I was raised in America. So I identify more with American culture. I'm not shunning either. I think that although Demetria describes an experience many black americans have w/ trying to find their "motherland" I think it is an experience that people who are physically and emotionally dislocated from their "historical origins" have in general. So I feel the same way that Demetria felt in SA, when I traveled to Nigeria (I've been there three times), I understand my parent's language, and I was raised on the greetings, so I'm more familiar w/ the culture than a "tourist". But that doesn't make me blend in more. They know I'm not a native in the same way they know my parents are not locals anymore. But not to take away from the writer's experience, this feeling of "unbelonging" occurs as I said previously when you're physically and emotionally disconnected, so it happens to a lot of people, like northerners who have roots in the south - there will be a natural disconnected).
The problem is not that there is a disconnection, but that we are trying to connect in the wrong things. One thing I realized is that I will never be Nigerian enough, or Black American enough, so I try to locate myself with people who are like me and find solace in that. That is one reason I like the idea of New York (brooklyn specifically). I feel like there are a lot of people like me. There are of course, tons of immigrants and transplants, but there are people born and raised there who are 1st generation and we can bond and create our own new histories instead of trying to connect to another one.
sorry for the long post. totally didn't want to comment, due to all of the crazies, but I appreciate you sharing. I too identify as American. My people don't understand why, but how can they when they are didn't grow up in America.
I basically came to this conclusion also without going to Africa but just by interacting with African Immigrants around my way. At the end of the day people are individuals, some I get along with, some I don't. But I have accepted that for better or worse I am more American than African. And there isn't anything wrong with that.
I don't get why people automatically jumped on you for article. But..it's sadly typical. Africans seem to want to claim us on one front and disown us on another, It's confusing. When we make even the slightest critique they tell us to "shut up, you're not African, you're an American Westerner you have no right to speak." But when we make praise and seek to be included and get rebuffed they say" Well what did you expect, you aren't African?" And yet they want to claim our accomplishments and acheivements in the U.S. by connecting it back to their cultures in any tangenital way that they can.
You can't win. If you say "I'm proud to be an African American" they say" What part of africa are you from? You aren't African. Stop trying to claim everything you arrogant American." BUT if you say " I'm black american, not African" that pisses them off too:" What do you mean you aren't African? You don't look white to me. Stop trying to be white, Africa is your motherland." *eyeroll* Well godammit what can I call myself that you are okay with? And last time I checked if Africa is our "mother" she gave us up for adoption to a shitty foster family.
It is really like Paul Mooney says "They think they're better than you. What are you mad for? You got the shit twisted. We're mad at YOU. We waited and NOBODY CAME FOR US! Any other nation would have declared war for it's people, but Africans just wrote us off like a bad check."
I think this is because of the elephant in the room which is of course slavery. Many Africans are ashamed of it, and the part that their ancestors had to play in it but only when they come into contact with us. So their reaction is to exclude us rather than include us and face the shame. It's easier just to not think about us, or think about us as castaways/castoffs. And they are exactly like white people, they victim blame and tell us to "get over slavery", if only they could "get over colonialism" just as easliy. For a people that supposedly value their history,ancestry, and culture so much they are incredibly willing to forget/ignore a large part of it when it suites their view of a certain group of people(just like white people).
Afro diasporans are kind of like Joseph in the story of Joseph and his seven brothers. They sold us into slavery but we ended up making good despite the obstacles. And now many of them are in our countries looking for a comeup or a hand out. They feel really embarrassed about it and automatically become defensive /arrogant around us. Only us though not around white people though, strangely enough. Try to even bring up slavery with one of them and the part Africans had to play in selling their own people, an act that they are fully aware everyone despises, and they become hysterically angry.
Of course many don't get how we feel. they disregard our feelings and us from the get go. It makes no sense to me how we can ask reparations of white people but not ask the same from Africans. To date two countries, Nigeria and Ghana, offered some for of repatriation for Afro Diasporans. That fact right there was enough to disillusion me from Pan Africanism and seeing Africa as my home. AMore countries than that participated in the slave trade, and still do but that's how little regard they have for us. One of the things about African culture is that fuedalism is still very much a thing and the serfdom therein is still a part of the culture in varying degrees in different areas, which explains why slavery, which is still going on in places like the Ivory Coast, is accepted there even though it's been abolished in most of the Western World. They call the slaves family members but it's basically slavery. There was a story on The Grio about a (http://thegrio.com/2012/11/01/west-african-man-convicted-of-keeping-4-boys-as-slaves/) West African Man doing that same thing. Many Africnas are very class concious because of this, to the point that they are classist. That is how many of them get out of their countries in the first place and are able to immgrate here to live work and pursue education. Being wealthy in many parts od Africa is about the same as being middle class here due to the differences in income levels and kinds of poverty. And even here the middle class is very scornful of the poor, more so than the wealthy because they are only one step above them.
Plus time, georgraphy, racial mixing, different environments have basically made both of us into vastly different people culturally. It's good for the experience and useful to supplanting your sense of identity, although not in the way you'd imagine.
You ruffled a few feathers with your observations but these kinds of conversations need to be had in the black community.