what up folks? i was commisioned to write a real short piece on african-americans and african immigrants and my thoughts on our relations. so i did. what follows is what i wrote. hella honest, ignorant, but honest. it would have been way longer, but i had a 400 word count that i blew by 200 words anyhow. i have a better story that envolves me, alibe, chris adams, one fine-ass latina, a taxi cab, one african cab driver, and the time alloted for said taxi cab to travel between fell's point and sonar (bodymore, murdaland for those not in the know), but i won't tell that one right now...-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To observers of non-African origin, it may be difficult to comprehend the complexities involved in African and African-American relations. I have heard the biases against Africans frequently amongst fellow African-Americans and I am also quite familiar with the stereotypes that Africans have against African-Americans. The sad fact is that our differences are bred in the common ignorance that we share of each other’s culture. I can only comment on that which I have lived, and I have two anecdotes that can exemplify the ignorance better than I can explain.
March 1988. Roxbury Middle School. Cleveland Heights, Ohio. My Spanish class was an area of hullabaloo in which the students had more authority than the teacher. Our refusal to say “negro” for the color black would have indicated as much. Friday was considered casual learning day, so we rarely did anything but “crack”, or talk condescendingly, about each other and each other’s mothers. In the class was one West African boy named Rupel, who normally did not engage in our verbal spars, but for some reason on this particular Friday, he did. It didn’t take long for us to tear into him with more epithets than were necessary. If I were to write the words used, one would think that this were a Klan meeting and not a middle school classroom full of African-American students. The insults continued unrelentingly until Rupel put his head down and cried. No one had anything to say except for our usually timid teacher, who sent us all to the principal’s office as she shook her head muttering, “Sickening.”
March 2002. Club Vietti. Roppongi, Tokyo. Myself and my good friend, Chris Adams were partying like two Tokyo businessmen after a 90-hour week. We were fortunate enough to find a Hip Hop club in the foreigner-friendly Roppongi ward of Tokyo. Two lovely Japanese ladies that were appreciating our style offered to purchase us some drinks. Drinks turned to conversation, conversation turned to dancing. I noticed a large group of Nigerian men that were staring at us in not the most friendly of fashions. I was told by one of the girls that the reason for the attention that we were attracting was due to the fact the two girls had been involved with two of the Nigerian fellows previously. I wanted to return the favor of the drinks, so I go to get more libations. While returning to the table, I accidentally bump into one of the Nigerian fellows. Realizing my mistake, I promptly say, “Excuse me my brother.” The Nigerian fellow turns slowly and looks coldly at me and says very steadily and calm, “You are not my brother.”
I have been guilty of prejudice against Africans, as I have also been victim of the same prejudice. It is an inexcusable action on the part of all people of African origin. Whether we were transported to a foreign land by Europeans or had our native lands occupied by Europeans, we are all facing the trials of achieving in a world that directly benefited from the blood, sweat and tears of our ancestors. Our stories are similar, only the settings are different. Hopefully we can one day stop using the conditioning that we all received from the Occident as the basis for our relations and opinions with each other.
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