On Race

Warning: This is a word heavy and photo scarce post!

We never grew up talking politics or sports in my parents home. It just wasn’t done. My dad worked too hard to have a social life and my mother, well sports was never an interest there. On politics there was an unspoken rule that it was crass to discuss that over dinner. In Kenya, politics is not simply a linear relationship of parties and causes. At the heart of it is ethnicity, tribal biases and clashes. You can’t talk politics without bringing up ‘the Luo’s’ and ‘the Kikuyu’s’ so my parents simply didn’t talk politics.

Race though is a whole other matter. My parents were brought up when there was still the euphoria of being an independent nation state with a government voted in by and run by Kenyans. At the same time, there was still the question of who were the whites to them now? What was the proper address for a man who was once master and now de facto had no right to their obedience? Did independence mean they could now go to the same school as master’s children?

We grew up under this shadow uncertainty of how the race roles had changed, if at all they had. We instinctively knew that there were some places you didn’t bother going to because you would be looked at ‘funny’. As the only black girl in my boarding house I was keenly aware of my colour, my culture, my past, the significance of it. Yet I struggled to find my place, feel comfortable in my own skin. I apologised for my accent, the fact that I pronounced words “wrong”. I tried to fade into the walls whenever the white Kenyans discussed black kenyans disparagingly. It’s not the easiest thing fading into a white wall when your skin is the colour of chocolate.

In 2013,  a lot of events, pieces of entertainment, music and movies inspired rhetoric on black empowerment, cultural appropriation and dilution, reverse racism and so on. It’s got me thinking a lot more than ever about what it means to be black. What racism means? Is there any such thing as reverse racism? Or is it an oversimplification of the true meaning of racism to say a bad experience on a 2 week holiday in Africa can equate to a lifetime of feeling less of a person because my colour wasn’t was associated with poverty, backwardness, lawlessness, unattractiveness (except for passing trends as if race can be a trend)?

This is more of a stream of consciousness than an argument for or against anything. It’s me trying to understand, placing my knowledge in the context of what has happened and what is happening.

What do you have to say on race? What’s your experience? Did you grow up with the same racial tensions my parents and consequently we grew up with? Was race a non-issue in your upbringing?

 

Anecdotes are where it’s at

If you’ve been reading this blog from the beginning you will probably have noticed my love of lists. I don’t normally use them in ‘real life’. It’s just with ‘blog life’ it forces me to get to the point, or so I delude myself. I thought I should do a photo list with little stories because a)my hair is short and I as yet have no idea what I am going to write about concerning that and b)I want you guys to follow me on instagram because I am incredibly cool and do a lot of cool stuff like eat and sleep and eat.

Relaxer days!!!

Ok so this is one is a gem. Me with my signature thumbs up thing that I do to ruin photos. I can’t believe I have not put many relaxer, bone straight hurrrr days photos on here. This was the year I started uni. I was petrified on the inside because I had spent the year at home and I was going to London for uni. I did not want to leave my parents! My mum and I were all but attached to the hip bone my entire gap year. I did not spend more than 3 days away from her and I was not prepared to go. Thing is I have been in boarding school half my life so you would think I am used to not being at home. Nope. Still hurts as much as it did the first day.

Old School London Bus

Yesterday, I was on my way to Greenwich (aka the end of the world) and it was a good day, I was in a good mood so I decided, ‘hang all the nefarious summer road diversions that make a 5 minute trip 3 hours long I am going to take the bus!’ So I wait for the number 15 to come and this old bus crawls up to the bus stop. I wasn’t sure if it was a tour bus because it just seems so unlikely that an old rusty bus with a conductor could be roaming the streets but the conductor assured me it was in service. First thing I said when I got on the bus was ‘Oh! This is new!’ You can probably tell I rarely ever think before I speak. Not worth the mental effort.

Africa House

I don’t know if you can see it but this building is called Africa House. When I saw it I remembered a Chimamanda Adichie lecture where she gave a story about this time when she was walking down the streets of London with her friend, Kenyan writer Binyavanga Wainaina and he would point from one building to another saying ‘This one was built with colonial loot from Nigeria, Kenya etc…’ I guess with this building they didn’t even bother hiding the fact.

Round the world in my BMX

When I was younger I went to a Kenyan primary school and anyone who is African knows exactly what that means – unashamedly outspoken teachers. As soon as our teachers realised we were old enough to start getting attracted to each other they would regularly give us the ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ talk. There was this pick up line they would always use as an example of what we should not be stupid enough to fall for: ‘Hi babeee, so you come I take you round the world in my bicycle’ Suffice to say I am now wary of any man who owns a bicycle or a motorcycle. I just don’t need those kind of lies in my life – you know?

This was totally short and to the point right?

Americanah: what makes a person one and other thoughts on the book.

This was going to be a book review but then it turned out to be a rumbling of my thoughts, doubts and questions about the book and about a whole load of other things.

I was excited about this new book by Chiamamanda Ngozie Adichie. No I have never read any of her other books. I’ve listened to her lectures on Youtube and I was sucked in. For the first time, here was an African, saying it as it is without sugar coating some of the stark realities about race, gender and class that we face so that people do not shift uncomfortably in their chairs. She’s touched on everything from colonisation and the lies colonialists tell themselves about colonisation to feminism and what it means. I got excited listening to her because it gave me courage. A giddy sort of courage, that maybe next time someone says something ridiculous about Africa, in the blissful ignorance of a person who knows nothing about a topic they think they know everything about, I could call them out on their crap. She made me question my decision to remain silent about how disappointed I am that my university, supposedly one of the best institutes for development studies, taught a neo-colonial version of development and was churning out students whose knowledge on (insert developing region) was built on hundreds of articles and books written by westerners who’d visited these regions a handful of times, a few Asians and the a smattering of Africans and Arabs. This is a subject that deserves a whole blog post of its own and I will do that soon.

Anyway, I bought the book two days ago. I read it all of yesterday and most of today, finishing it an hour ago. It was what I had expected. Honest, engaging and sometimes uncomfortable. It did what a good book should. It made me question and think a little deeper than the surface thoughts I am used to. It made me see myself through the eyes of the characters and some of what I saw was unsettling. I’m on of those Kenyan’s who ‘went abroad’ and started drinking any other milk except the one from cows, ‘went natural’ and use natural hair products and my dream home is an old rustic home covered with ivy on a farm in the middle of nowhere. That in Nigeria is an ‘Americanah’. But I have never been to America, and contrary to the description of an ‘Americanah’ I still have a Kenyan accent that I refuse to lose because it feels awkward talking in a British accent. I have a difficult time with my r’s and l’s and my favourite foods are chapati and the mokimo that my grandmother makes (mashed potatoes, peas (or greens) and maize mixed in at the end). So what exactly does that make me? At first I felt guilty for actually enjoying almond milk and vegetarian sausages. I wanted so badly to not be like that. To prefer the new and flashy homes with cold hard tiles, and a garage that could house 5 cars to my dream of an old home that my future husband and I would renovate and restore (sorry future husband you are in for some serious manual labour!!). My mother does not like vintage or second hand clothes. When I first came to UK, I was – though I never openly said it – shocked that everyone bought second hand or vintage clothes. I’d see magazine fashion features with an actress wearing a 1960s vintage dress she bought in a flee market in wherever and I marvelled at how comfortable they were in their own skin to wear a second hand dress and proudly declare it so in a national publication. But my mother put it well – when you have not grown up in a world where peeling paint on chipped furniture, severely patched clothes, old hand-me-downs were the constant reminder of a life of poverty, then it is ‘exotic’ to love old worn out things. And somehow being in this environment of plenty had somehow influenced my likes and dislikes without my consciously knowing it.

What stood out the most for me in the book was the role of Christianity in the book. Granted Christianity is used as a crutch and excuse for laziness and persecution among many other things, I was still left with a bad taste in my mouth at the thought that the lasting impression most people will have of Christianity in Africa is a bunch of hypocritical zealots who invoke God’s name whenever they want to get something out of the world. As a Christian, it saddened me because there are many Christians in Kenya and I am sure Nigeria who do not attend church solely to see how many blessings they can squeeze from God. There are many who have a heart for God and seek him not the possible presents that may or may not come with knowing him.

Has anyone else read Americanah? What do you think about the whole concept of an Americanah and the book itself?

Sauti Sol

I’m one of those people who never know what the latest of anything is…especially songs. I find a band/musician I like and then play them on repeat until either my flatmates beg for mercy (to date they’ve been very accommodating) or spotify tells me I cannot play the songs anymore, in which case I take a little gander over to youtube to continue the obsession.

Unfortunately when I like a song, I get this idea that I’ve got moves that I simply need to bust regardless of the fact that for an African girl, born and raised with a lot of booty shakin’ around me, I have no rhythm. There. I’ve said it. And now I’ll even let you see it.

One day I’ll regret being so honest.

Sauti Sol is a Kenyan band that to date has sang in more than 4 languages…I think?  Anyway most of their songs are in a mix of English and Swahili and more importantly they are simply addictive. I even bought the albums on itunes. Which, to us perpetually broke students, says a lot. The first Sauti Sol song I ever had was ‘Nairobi’ (featuring Stan). Ironically we were driving with a friend in Nairobi, or should I say we were stuck in ‘bumper to bumper’ traffic in the sweltering sun praying for deliverance. The song represents everything that I love about Nairobi.

Unfortunately they don’t have a video for this song (or if they do I cannot find it) but the song’s worth listening to!

 

 

The next song I  heard was Lazizi and to this day every time I see my mum after a long time I sing to her ‘nikikuona na wengine na shikwa na wivu, naomba unipe number yako nikuvutie wire, nikupeleke java, tunywe kahawa.’ ‘When I see you with others I get jealous, please give me your number so that I can give you a ring and take you to Java to drink coffee’. It’s become our little song and I smile everytime I hear it play.

 

 

Recently they released a new song Still The One that has officially solidified my obsession with their music. It’s just beautiful. Nuff said.

I’m guessing the video for this one will be coming out sharpish but until then:

I may have written on their facebook wall expressing the urgency with which they need to plan a concert in London. And yes, yes they did respond. They said soon, but frankly my dear if it’s not today then it’s simply not soon enough.

The beginning of a new addiction? Etsy

I’ve never shopped on Etsy before. I get confused and frustrated when I like something but it’s only sold in US. I know it’s pretty simple to understand but I have never read the instructions on anything and I am not about to begin now. Having said that, I’ve recently started reading Simply Cyn, a lifestyle blog that originally started as a place for her to showcase her awesome Etsy finds. Not going to lie some of the things she’s found have been amazing. So I got curious and decided to try this Etsy thing out and maybe it’s because this time I was pretty specific in what I was looking for but I found some beautiful things that I need to tell someone about, what with the birthday and all coming up pretty soon ;).

African Dreamland: Africa heart pendant £26.50

You can get the heart shape on any country you want 🙂

African Print Dress by Zoharous £30.55

Orange, red and mint chevron leather earring by Tovicorrie: £15.59

I finally, sorta, kinda understand the craze behind Etsy but as I said earlier, I need to have a very very specific idea of what I am looking for otherwise I don’t find anything worth writing home about. Does anyone else have a similar experience with Etsy?