Not African Enough in Africa
When I was 10 or so, my father won an all-expense paid trip to Senegal. “We’re going to Africa!” my mother gleefully exclaimed. So we took the Amtrak train to New York to fly out of JFK and ignored the warnings of a pending Nor’easter, thinking the sheer and desperate determination of three Black Americans to make it to Africa would hold off the worst of the snow until we were airborne.
It didn’t. New York City was shut down for three days, and by the time the airports opened, it didn’t make sense to fly out. We pushed the trip back indefinitely, and never made it. And so began my obsession with Africa, the place my even-tempered mother spoke of like it was some sort of Disneyland for Black people.
Some Black Americans, and I’m referring mostly to those that call Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina their “Old Country,” tend to be awe-struck at the idea Africa, like Nas at the end of Belly. Once we get a full picture beyond what we’re taught in school, where the largest continent and birthplace of all mankind is reduced to being the starting point for the Atlantic Slave Trade, there becomes an eagerness to migrate back across the Atlantic. The yearning is not unlike some immigrants who seek entrance to American shores. Except we’re not seeking the opportunities and streets of gold that Fievel and his family expected; we’re seeking the “home” that the Middle Passage erased.
I get why. For many American Blacks, the overall American experience has never really felt like a place where you can kick up your feet and recline all the way back. You get moments where that happens, of course, but then you also get a startling awakening— like when people are surprised you don’t have any children out of wedlock, or you happen to be “so articulate,” or despite carrying a purse while you shop, you find yourself explaining “No, no, actually I don’t work here.” Those things remind you not to get too comfy. America is home in the sense of being the devil you know, a bit like a stereotypical step-child, the one you tolerate but don’t really love like your own.
In recent weeks those feelings have surfaced again for many who struggle to make sense of the injustice of Trayvon Martin’s killer walking around freely, the ignorance displayed in conservative columnist John Derbyshire’s piece for The National Review where he wrote of advising his children to avoid Black folk, and the obnoxiousness of those Twitter-racists who found outrage in a sympathetic book character being Black or Awkward Black Girl landing the Shorty Award for best web-series. I find, similar to Cinderella, we dream of an escape to a place where we fit, like a glass slipper on the correct foot. For me, that place was Africa, any country, any part.
I’m an American-Born Nigerian who identifies primarily as a Nigerian-American woman. But that’s the catch. When I visit Nigeria, I am considered American. My English is a “white, American English” not the British/broken English that my people speak. I look like them, but I don’t sound like them.
Africans in the Diaspora have to deal with cultural displacement as well.
And yes, Africa is much to large to have a general experience. I’m sure if I went to South Africa or Eritrea or Tanzania I would have to adjust.
Dear Belle,
This last paragraph from your blog was unsettling (although honest!):
“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.”
I think you are still generalizing Africa.
WHENEVER someone travels to an African country and still says just “Africa”, I cringe.
I dunno, am I overreacting here?
The honesty that I LOVE is your blatant desire to drop “African” from your identification. I have never seen it illustrated that way and I think that says a lot about the Black American/African relationship. Maybe that is a way to begin clarifying definitions, instead of accusing one another.
I just wish there wasn’t such a divide…
I don’t know where to begin with this.
I think part of the problem with American Blacks being alienated from (and being alienating to) other Black ethnic groups is the very term “African American.” I will get flack for this but here goes: it is not accurate. From my perspective, people are co-opting “third world”, post-colonial experiences that they know absolutely nothing about: the Black American reality is *extremely* different from any other Black ethnic group in the world. The term assumes a direct ancestry and almost unbroken cultural heritage — that’s completely false. American culture with its radical individualism is radically different from any other in the world. When you contrast it with African culture, the differences are dramatic. The more appropriate term for the Black population here would be “Africans and African descendants.” That terminology is simply true of all Black people in America.
I also suspect that there is a cultural chauvinism and arrogance that is a mimicry of the general American outlook on the outside world. There’s a weird assumption of superiority and ownership, and Americans tend to erroneously think they have an objective, authoritative understanding of other peoples’ cultures: it’s imperialist.
I cringed as the author described Africa as a “Disneyland,” and the repeated references to “Africa” as though it was a country. Americans abroad tend to treat the rest of the world as existing for their pleasure or enlightenment and tend not to perceive or understand people on their own terms. American Blacks react to ideas about African and other Black nations in the same way White Americans react to ideas about Europe. There’s a lot of paternalism, jingoism, and condescension, without a healthy respect.
I’ve known White Americans who regularly visit India as some sort of spiritual escape, all while claiming Indians seem “happy” in poverty. I’ve known White men who’ve gone to Northeast Asia to have sex with Asian women, as though ordinary rules of decency and ethics didn’t apply. Are American Blacks starting to treat “Africa” as some place over which they can claim ownership, while not even acknowledging or comprehending the lived experiences of Africans, who often do NOT get to speak for themselves about their tribes/nations/people? I hope not.