Friday, September 15, 2017, 6:15pm
As I enjoyed another beautiful sunset in Pacific Beach, San Diego, I watched two parents hysterically laugh as seagulls chased their son around the beach. The poor kid had a couple slices of bread in his hand and was so terrified that he couldn’t think to just drop the slices and end his own misery. Me being a fan of dark humor, I thoroughly enjoyed each and every second of it. I wish I could’ve glued the bread to his hand, but hey, you can’t get everything you want in life.
During this comical turmoil, I felt my phone vibrate and proceeded to read the notification; it’s a message from a good friend of mine affectionately known as “Booby.” The message contained two things: a screenshot of a pie chart with percentage breakdowns and a complimentary text riddled with exclamation points. My initial instinct was to read it later because I didn’t want to miss a second of the pay-per-view worthy event transpiring before my eyes, but I went against my better judgment.
I began to read the results of what came to be hisancestral search:
Africa – 74% (Nigeria = 28%, Cameroon/Congo = 16%, Ivory Coast/Ghana = 12%, Senegal = 12%, lower confidence regions = 6%), Europe – 25%, West Asia – 1%
“Life makes so much more sense now!!!! My guy, it’s so lit!!!! Got that Nigerian running wild in ya boy!!!!!!”
My response?
”Alternative genes” (I’m such a troll. I just love stealing the initial joy out of anything from my friends).
Booby responds with a GIF of two Nigerian men dancing and proceeds to officially anoint himself with the Nigerian name, “Oluwabooby!” and unabashedly claims himself as a Naija king.
As I laughed at our exchange I suddenly had another “red pill” moment – that instance when a sobering reality or two or three abrasively cease the elation and euphoria of a moment – and the sunset wasn’t as mesmerizing. I suddenly stopped laughing. I suddenly didn’t find the kid being chased by seagulls funny anymore.
Why the sudden mood swing you might ask? Simple. I realized in thatvery moment that I, like many other first-generation Africans born in the U.S., take for granted the knowledge of knowing where we’re from. Truly knowing the EXACT country, city, village, tribe, and people we come from. Truly having a place to call home. To be a black man or woman in America and posses such priceless gems is as rare as Fergie getting another shot at singing the National Anthem.
Here’s Booby, a friend I consider my brother, excited to finally find a sense of identity and the keystone to his very being. His closure, if you will, came at the age of 25. Can you imagine?! (In the richest of Nigerian accents). Now imagine all my friends, like millions of other African-Americans, who have no clue of their ancestral background. Absolutely none. It’s a shame (obviously not of their doing).
Which made me pose a question to myself, “What is my responsibility in all of this?” With privilege comes responsibility and whether you choose to face those responsibilities is totally up to each individual person. I wanted to find a way to capitalize on the privilege of knowing where I’m from to help my friends begin the journey of galvanizing remnants of their own identity; friends who, quite frankly, are America’s orphans and subsequently 2nd class citizens. Such a state of detachment is devastating and plagues an entire people conditioned to endure and accept muddied narratives of their origins.
I wholeheartedly believe it’s our duty as a first-generation Africans to help bridge the gap between African-Americans and the continent of Africa, not only exposing its natural beauty, wonders, and culture, but also its relatable hardships as well. We’re at a perfect place historically to help our friends discover their roots as we presently live in what I consider the “Gold Rush” era for black art and talent (article on this particular topic coming soon as part 4 of my Defining Blackness series).
Now, how do we get there? It’s not so simple. Though the solution to achieving the ultimate goal is very nuanced and layered, there are smaller bricks that can be laid to establish a foundation. The first step is simplyadopting our friends as honorary Africans. You know that one friend who seems to have 100 Nigerian friends? The one who’s pretty much one by affiliation? Well, start teaching that friend the customs, the language, the foods, the music and the greetings of the culture.
Invite them to Nigerian parties, or better yet, Nigerian weddings. Give them a Nigerian name. Convince them to get measured for some traditional wear. Make them feel included in the community. Believe me, the sense of identity will have them cooking jollof rice better than your Mom (except mine of course 🙂
Let’s say don’t have a slew of first-gen African friends, the few you may have are still your lifelines to the Mother Land. This idea is somewhat similar to us first-generation Africans perfecting our balance between learning American culture and abiding by our own. We needed you all to help us assimilate into customs that did not exist in our households. Unfortunately, so many of us were battling our own identity issues during our upbringing in America that we were unknowingly selfish in our exchange of culture and customs. But with time came the wisdom to assist in the rebuild and recharge of your identities.
Our generation – coming from a 29 years old– is also arguably the most traveled generation of the modern era. We’re a hybrid of coast-to-coast jet-setters and international voyagers. Embark on a trip with your friends to Africa, a land where the majority of the people are black. Let me repeat that because the concept and imagery are so foreign that it probably didn’t register. Embark on a journey to a land where almost EVERYBODY is BLACK. To visit a place where you don’t have to worry about racism or be conscious of your blackness is liberating in and of itself. All the exposure to African culture and heritage is great and all in America, but to experience it in full effect, thriving in its most natural state is necessary to feeding the soul of your identity.
It’s already happening in some sense. Just take a look at the music industry, specifically rap and hip-hop, and how the recent wave of afro-beat, afro-fusion and dancehall music gave ussome of the biggest hits of 2016 and 2017. The international collaborations are an inclination of how connected we are in this very small the world. Remember that video of The Migos performing in Nigeria? Exactly.
My vision for the return, so to speak, of African-Americans to African culture, is buried in the idea that these newly adopted identities will be passed down to generation after generation. Two generations from now I would love to see Booby’s grandchildren proudly claim Nigeria as one of their countries of origin without hesitation; for them to have a place they can consider a home; for them to find some sense of identity in a world where many of their peers won’t.
Wakanda may not be real (nor is Hogwarts), but we can start to build upon that sense of pride and frenzy we all felt as we watched Black Panther in theaters. Representation not only energized us, but it sparked the minds of millions of children globally. Life, too, is a movie; one in which I hope to see a reoccurring theme of attachments to representation in our everyday lives rather than solely on the movie screen.
Abdris