A clash of identities: The African and The African-American

A statement you will probably hear quite a lot is, “there is a difference between African born in Africa and African born in America”. Truly, there is but that is not quite what I want to talk about; I want to talk about the African from Africa and the African who immigrated to America. I would say that these are two different identities that can either clash or blend well together. More often than not, they would clash and that’s what a lot of immigrant African children have to deal with. The identity of where you are coming from and the identity of where you are now. Which do you associate with, the “ghost” of the past or the aliveness of the present?

This issue of clash in identities is unfortunately not spoken about a lot but it is something we experience and go through on a daily basis. I remember when I first came to America, there was unfamiliarity in the American culture, and that fear in new and unfamiliar beginnings. There was that need to stick to what you know, where you are from, how you were brought up. While that isn’t a bad thing, what about evolution and growth, I thought. I surely can’t remain stagnant in my ways or else how would growth come? Then, I moved into the stage where there was a confusion between the burning need to hold onto my Africanness so as to avoid claims of being whitewashed and that strong desire to assimilate and be like my other American classmates. Now, I am at a stage where I am indeed recognizing this clash in identities.

I know you might be thinking, why not be both? Why must there be a clash? I truly don’t know, there just is. I wasn’t born in the American culture, so I am not used to it, therefore, I have to learn and get used to it but how do I do that when I am all covered up in the richness of my African culture, fortified by food we eat with our hands, clothes adorned with color and beads, tales passed down from grandfathers and grandmothers? Do I divide myself? How do I make these two identities intertwine without me being torn into several pieces?

The African identity as it is vivid to me is the familiarity between my neighbors and me, how everyone on my street knows one another too well, the games we play in school while gossiping loudly, loud voices of our school teachers, and market days where I am too excited to see the harshness of that reality. In slight maybe nonexistent contrast, the African American identity as it is vivid to me is Malcolm X, Juneteenth, understanding of black history, identity, joys, struggles, standing out amongst others in school, being celebrated and hated without remorse, hearing the n word and not knowing what to think about it, and the desire to achieve the best so as not to disgrace the efforts of MLK, and many others. That is how it roams in my head and how I see it.

I believe this issue, although very general, is extremely individualistic. It differs from individual to individual but what you have read is what is true to me.

Thanks for reading. I hope you are doing ok:)

**love from this corner always.

restless(a poem)

i want to go back to the days when breathing wasn’t so hard for me

when fear wasn’t the constant thing on my mind

when my head wasn’t a like a wall full of writings and imprints

when i felt even the littlest of peace

when my heart was calm and full of tranquility;

those days when sleep wasn’t the hardest thing

when life wasn’t a constant punch in the face

when i didn’t have to roll all around the bed, trying to find sleep

those days when i wasn’t restless,

and endlessly searching for stillness.


hiiiiiii:)) how are you doing?! I really hope you are doing okay!

For me, I am pretty alright. Just counting down to summer;)

byee and thank you for reading!

*don’t forget that it’s okay to ask for help. love you:)

A bird( a poem)

there’s a bird in my ear

singing lullabies and echoing sweet melodies

pulling and pushing me in and out of the state of stillness

closely watching me as I slip in and out of nothingness

as I transcend and become all I imagine I will be.

there’s a bird in my ear

slowly singing and humming peaceful haikus in my ears

turning those beautiful sweetnesses into bitter truths

pushing deep and plunging me further and further

into the life in which I peacefully withdraw to,

into the world, where I am nothing but pieces of skin and flesh.


hi all:)) how are you doing?! I really really hope you are doing okay!

As for me, I am pretty good. I am just so thankful to God for all He does. I just wanted to write something, and that’s what you are seeing in this post.

byee. thanks for reading.

*please don’t forget that God loves you forever!

Some intriguing book quotes..

hi! How are you doing? I really hope all is well with you!

For me, I am pretty good. It’s been quite busy but I am pushing through with God’s help.

In today’s post, I am just going to share with you some of intriguing book quotes from some books I have read this year! I am not going to provide explanations at all, I just want you guys to see them.

Okay, here they are;

1)”..the only time when I heard people talk about depression was when they were using it as a synonym for sadness, and so I never thought of it as a disease..”

2)”All of this work trying to get to the bottom of the thing that had no bottom: he relapsed just fourteen hours after leaving rehab.”

3)”A hectic painting on what was once a pure white canvas.”

4)”Maybe we slip in and out of alternate worlds through our minds and our imaginations, picking up scar tissue from other dimensions.”

5)”I put my head down, suddenly tired. I know I should say something to make her feel better, but I can’t manage it. In fact, I’m angry at her. Shouldn’t she be able to take care of us? Isn’t that what adults are supposed to do? Take care of their kids? Shield them from stuff? Pay bills?”

6)”I don’t know if you are happy, I never asked.”

7)”Our hands empty except for our hands.”

8)”He grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face him..”look at me when I’m talking to you.”..He was only nine but had already mastered the dialect of damaged American fathers.”

yeah. that’s about it. Let me know which quote is more intriguing to you.

thanks for reading..

bye:))

My Chocolatey Brown Skin(a poem)

For the tenth time that day,

I stare and stare at the skin behind my fingers

I stare because it’s a wonder and a delight

According to my mum and dad and my best friend.

My friends call it chocolatey brown skin that reminds them of the KitKat bar no one could never resist

My parents tell me, chocolatey brown skin that reminds of them of Earth, of the soil, of the land.

I can’t stop staring because

Like the creepy man at the bus stop says,

It’s like the eight wonder of the world

And as I stare and stare at my chocolatey brown skin,

I wonder what the man I always see in the train sees

That makes him look at me with eyes full of disgust

Anytime he saw my chocolatey brown skin.

And then I wonder, what my boyfriend sees

When he calls me cocoa and all the names that belong to Starbucks drinks

I wonder what about my chocolatey brown skin makes me so different

I wonder what about it draws so much attention

I wonder what about it makes everyone extra sweet to me

I wonder what about it makes me less of a human

I wonder what about it reduces me to sugar filled Starbucks drinks

I wonder what about my chocolatey brown makes me keep staring at the skin at the back of my finger.


hii! How are you?! I hope you are doing okay!

For me, I am doing pretty alright! I just wanted to share this poem with you!

Thank you for reading as always:))

byee!

*don’t forget that God loves you forever and that no matter your skin color, you are beautiful and beautiful and so beautiful.

Beautiful Boy(a poem)

My beautiful beautiful boy

My boy with eyes so brown, they remind me of earth, of life, of hope, of being

My boy with hair so curly, they remind me of waves, of water, of joy, of freedom

My boy with very sad eyes and very thin body

My boy who is so lost and helpless

My boy who is too sick, tired, and in pain

My boy who I try to help but can’t

My boy that brings a smile to my face every time he smiles

My boy who rarely smiles these days and holds so much pain in his eyes

My boy who pushes me away because he doesn’t know he needs help

My beautiful boy who is alive but has been dead for a while now

My beautiful beautiful boy who I don’t know how to help anymore.


hi! How’re you? I hope you’re doing okay! If you’re not, I pray that God will calm you and visit you. Amen!

Here’s another poem from me because why not!

I’ll see y’all later. Thank you for reading!

bye once again.

*don’t forget that God loves you forever and that whatever you’re going through right now, with God by your side always, you’ll get through it.