Sunday, March 4, 2018

So, why were you crying during Black Panther?


I have waited three long weeks to write this — that’s how long I needed to sort through my emotions (jk, not really). This is going to be entirely about why I cried from about five minutes of the movie to 20 minutes after the movie. There are lots and lots of great think-pieces and twitter streams out there about Wakanda’s feminism, isolationism, Freedom in the World score, etc. That’s not this piece. I’m going to do that thing I’ve occasionally said I hate when women writers do — I am going to cannibalise on my own feelings — though I will have links to some Black Panther-related pieces I have enjoyed at the end.

Some context:

1. I cry a lot. One of my friends while pregnant described herself as “more emotional than Wendy and Pi (another friend) combined.”

2. There will be spoilers — I can’t do this properly without them. I tried.

Now hang tight as I unpack ten years of baggage!

1. “We’re home.”

Everybody’s favourite General, Okoye, announces this to a googly-eyed T’Challa and a comforting Nakia as Wakanda comes into view from the aircraft-spacecraft thing-a-ma-bob Royal Talon Fighter. The sun is rising over the horizon, and we are introduced to some Wakandan citizens. For a quick moment a shepherd boy waves at the RTF flying over his sheep and the dusty grassland. Boy did the tears fall hard during this scene! I was crying because when Okoye said “we’re home” she wasn’t only talking to T’Challa and Nakia, she was talking to me. My grandparents’ town is a dusty red thing not too dissimilar from what we saw. In that moment, I felt as if someone I knew was receiving me. It wasn’t simply the familiarity of the scene; there was a certain loving quality to that shot, an intimacy, an understanding. In any other movie about Africa, the audience would perceive that scene with contempt — pity the poor Africa country that cannot feed her own people — and this is the outside world’s view of Wakanda at various points in the movie. But for us insiders, those of us going home, we know there’s more. This was the first of many parts of the movie that I felt seen in a way I never thought I could in a movie theatre in the US.

Besides that, I was crying for 18–23 year-old Wendy, who struggled to convey this complexity to her classmates who only knew Africa for its ails. I, like many other African international students, have done a pretty good job of adding to the view count on that Chimamanda single story TED talk. It was the most I felt I could do to make my friends see my home was more than what they thought it was. I cried because I wished I had that scene back in college.

I cried because I still remember a time really early on in college while answering yet another slew of ignorant questions about Africa, I flippantly told someone “It’s beautiful. You should come,” and was quickly received with a “Me? Go to Africa?” and a look whose best approximation is the response to “Here, lick this shoe.”
Black Panther certainly isn’t the first time I get to see this. That scene is every Safaricom ad (here, here, and this project) and it is that iconic Kenya Airways ad. I have seen work portraying Africa in a positive light — but a lot of this was us having conversations with ourselves . I felt overwhelmed not only that other people would listen in on the conversation but that they would almost see it the way I do. As Danai says in this interview, this depiction of where I’m from “is like a salve to those wounds.”

2. Africa is cool!
Somewhat related but also not is the experience of seeing your home or aspects of your home be considered “cool.” Again, back to college, where I was the kid with the weird accent, weird mannerisms and weird taste in food — coupled with the baggage of being from a dirty, poor place.

I said “multiplication” funnily and some kid sitting right across from him laughed and felt no shame.

My shoe obsession and collection (RIP) was a thing of fascination because, “Heels? But you are from Africa...” Those two things are mutually exclusive.

[Here’s a fifteen-minute documentary about “The Division” at my college. I’m in it. I look a hot mess, and there’s a lot I would want to say or respond to differently, but if you’d like more context about college.]

I certainly worked to fix my Africanness. I changed the way I speak to make it easier for others to understand me. I modulate the way I act. Interestingly now —being in a more international space (a huge chunk of my current classmates have spent a significant portion of their lives outside the US) and also having been in Laos, where I learned I was closer to the culture as a Kenyan than a pretend American — I find that I have reverted to be in some ways even more African than I ever was (I hold my right elbow with my left hand when shaking hands with people these days — what??!). BP was a temporary moment of seeing what I’ve long fought to say is cool be accepted as a cool thing. I wish I had this movie back in the day, if only to have at least one globally recognized comeback .

3. Africans vs. African Americans
The scene between N’Jobu and T’Chaka was obvie the first moment I started crying. Some background: I barely remember talking about the human cost of the Triangular/Transatlantic Slave Trade in high school history lessons. There was a quick mention that the Africans who were sold were enticed with beads, mirrors and other gifts; some were kidnapped; some were prisoners of war sold by rival kings. As far as I remember (and Mrs. Sum’s students, correct me if I’m wrong) that was never tied to US history and the black struggle on this side of the world. I don’t remember learning about slavery or segregation in the US — the Triangular Trade somehow stopped a little ways into the Atlantic just off the waters of Senegal and Ghana (again, people, correct me if I’m wrong). Maybe I was a dense kid and needed it spelled out. It wasn’t until later, probably while learning about slavery in Latin America,  that I made the connections. “Wait, those black people we said were sold, those are the people who ended up there?"

At the same time, the US was the first time I realized that just because someone looks like you doesn’t mean they would understand where you are coming from. And this goes both ways between Africans and African Americans. It’s sad to realize how our view of each other is so dictated by racism. “Black Americans are lazy.” “They don’t want to work.” “Africans are dirty.” “Africans smell funny.” Eveeezy, a Kenyan-American YouTuber, made a video in 2015 about Wakanda (as in Africa) suddenly being cool, in which she talks about the playground taunts she endured as a kid of African immigrants in America. While my experience would be much closer to her parents, it was still relatable and expanded a lot on what I experienced.

Watching Killmonger and T’Challa be the embodiments of this debate was emotionally overwhelming. I needed them to hash it out and reconcile. I cried because it was a little uncomfortable — did we Africans really turn our backs on our people?

I know I wasn't the only one thinking this because I had a conversation with an African American friend after, and as we discussed Wakanda’s isolationism she asked: “I was thinking like, is that how it is in Africa? They don’t really think of the others that were taken away and now live this worse life because of it?” I guess, it’s more a Wakandan thing because they also neglected other African countries, but...?

4. Seeing yourself
First, I have spent a lifetime consuming media about people whose lives are so entirely different from mine, I don’t need characters to look like me to empathize with them. I’ve heard that there are people who don’t go to watch movies with people of other races because they can’t identify —such a sweet existence that has to be. Still, there is a lot to be said about being able to see yourself in someone else without pulling mind tricks. Lupita has certainly been that for me. We really don’t have much in common besides growing up in Nairobi and stanning for the same band (why did I never get a picture?!). Here is this Kenyan girl (fine, and Mexican, too). The same Lupita I saw on a Kenyan show. Lupita at the Oscars. Lupita with Janelle Monae. Lupita with Angela Bassett and Forrest Whittaker!  All these people who otherwise live in my TV. Here she is in this space that was inaccessible to me, that I thought was inaccessible to African girls like me. Nothing's changed about its accessibility for me, personally, but still it’s mindbogglingly weirdly pleasant. It’s such a sweet feeling. I cried because I was so happy! I even re-watched her Oscar acceptance speech because I could finally let go of her first Hollywood role being a slave.

Would you believe me if I said this was the shortened version?! The thing that has struck me the most about this movie is how layered it is and I keep discovering new brilliant things about it (the score has been a trip!). I also have the worst case of pop culture withdrawals and that lingering feeling of wanting to live in Wakanda has not yet passed (three weeks later!). Please send me links to videos and articles so I can keep this fantasy alive. I think for starters I'm going to watch Fruitvale and Creed because (and I know I am late to this party) producer Ryan Coogler is a genius!

Further watching/Further Reading

Letitia Wright, Lupita Nyong’o and Michael “Bae” Jordan at BBC 1Xtra — Lupita for president!
Lupita Nyong’o and Danai Gurira on BlackTree helped me get over their accents
Africa’s a Country has been doing a lot of stuff:
Buzzfeed’s See Something Say Something Podcast | JoJoba Oil in the Wind

Monday, November 18, 2013

#globalperspectives

It's been a month of being in an environment where my educational background actually matters (I mean it's always mattered but here "Tell me about yourself" really isn't about me trying to complete my language bucketlist. I'm learning every time I meet a new person to respond to the question, "What is your background?") And I've noticed a trend in reactions from Europeans when I talk about my college experience. "Oh, so you have that American liberal arts thing" (paraphrased). This is a shocking revelation, because up until now, I thought a liberal arts degree was a good thing. Well, except that one time the receptionist at the Ministry of Water in Nairobi laughed out loud when I told her what I was studying.



I don't know why I am surprised that Europeans, Germans especially, would disapprove of my American education. I mean, it's not like I've been listening to two hours of a Freakonomics podcast about whether college (implied, in the United States) is worth it.

*****
Updates: I moved to Laos for a fellowship with an environmental conservation organisation. I had to make a career move. Here's a link to my blog while I'm in Laos. I'll still maintain this one about career/growing-up angst -- which is separate from traveling to another country and experiencing a different life for a year... or is it? :)

Monday, September 30, 2013

Wow.

I had one of those moments in which you realise you can't simply talk about all the things you wanna be when you grow up, instead you actually have to take steps toward that thing. Why does this leave me feeling surprised (and maybe a little overwhelmed)?

In what you are doing right now, I am curious, at what point did you realise it was more than talking about what you wanted to do in 20 years, 10 years or 5 months and instead that there were/are other actions involved with getting you where you want to be? Has there ever been a need for that realisation?

Monday, June 3, 2013

Recycled | "You Speak Good English" and Why I Should Take it as a Compliment.

I wrote this in September of 2011. Recent events have brought it back to memory, and I decided to edit it a little and post it here.

"You speak good English!"

Someone paid me this "compliment" in the middle of a conversation earlier this week. I understand that she meant it as a good thing, something that would lead up to other good things as concerns my trying to learn other languages, so I'm not particularly holding her to fault. But at the same time, immediately she said it I could hardly wait for her to get to a pause so that I could clue her in.
"No, I don't remember the first time I heard someone speak English."
"We speak English in Kenya. No, not as a second language. Many people are bilingual (and tri-lingual, etc) and if they aren't, it's because they speak too much English."
Yes, she hit a raw nerve. There are so many times I've heard:
"You came to the US in 2008? But your English is so good!"
To be fair, it doesn't always come from the stereotypical ignorant American. That last quote was from a Peruvian cab driver.

I was watching the Hague proceedings this morning. There were all manner of nationalities represented. French, German, British and US were just the ones that stuck in my mind. These are relevant because while I was watching, I thought, "Uh, she has good English" and "Oh, his English is not so good."

How do we judge "good" English? Is it vocabulary? Diction? Fluency? Is my English "good" when I use fifteen-letter words in place of five-letter words? Is my English "good" if I don't roll my R's? Is my English "good" when, even though it has one accent or another, it's my first language? Is it fair to misjudge the German judge (ha!) by his fluency and diction when his vocabulary is bigger than I can imagine?

I once joined a Facebook group, "I judge you when you use poor grammar," because I do, or used to. My feelings toward the group changed a little when I learned that because I have an unfamiliar accent, people are inclined to immediately shut out what I am saying. It sucks when you can see it in their eyes, too. It's as if the lights went out, and there's no one home anymore. It's as though, by virtue of having an accent, no one waits to find out if my grammar is on point -- it was drummed into me for 12+ years of school, it better be! And more importantly, they immediately assume that they will not understand me. Or I'm just about to ask for something that's so culture-specific, they are sure they don't have it at their store or whatever. Basically, I am judged, and dismissed, by my accent.

Back to the point, why I should take it as a compliment. In China, in Japan, in France, in Germany, in Spain, in Mali, in Senegal, in Brazil, in Peru, and all manner of non-Anglophone countries around the globe, the economy, the school system, life, everything - or almost everything - runs without the need for English. While in Kenya, that you don't speak English implies that you didn't go to school -- because that's the language of instruction -- and hints at you being illiterate, it is hardly the case in any of the other countries I mentioned before. So when someone says, "Oh. You're English is so good!" it doesn't always mean, "Oh, you are not as dumb as I thought!" Though it might. It's more a recognition of "Oh, look at you! You have such a good grasp of this language for which I assume, aside from speaking with me right now and your school work, you have no use." Which has its own world of implications.

Next time someone tells me I speak good English, I'll take it as a compliment because they imagine -- with some valid although inapplicable evidence -- that up until 3 years ago, I had no use for the language. And consequently, they imply that I can get by (fully) on Kiswahili or Luo. They assume that I could comfortably read a book in Kiswahili, or that my mum and I converse in Luo, or that at a funeral, I don't have a 9-year old translating what the preacher is saying. All good things of which English has gotten in the way. Yes, next time someone tells me my English is good, I'll smile before I add:
"I wish I could say the same for my mother tongue other languages."

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Year 5

May 12, 2013

365 days to the date since I received my college diploma.

"I confer the degree of bachelor of [Arts] and be admitted into the company of educated men and women."

I've spent the past week trying to remember what I did during my last week as an undergrad. Everything is a blur except graduation day and the day before it. Oh, and the day after graduation is surprisingly vivid given that I hadn't sleep at all between the morning of May 12, 2012 and the evening of May 13th, 2012.

I've been listening to St. Louis' Wild 104.9 because the last half of the semester has been spent getting to know the people that I call my friends, and many of those moments we shared together have been underscored by pop music. For the next few months poppy music is going to be very sentimental.

I have worked in the same office, with mostly the same people for the last five years. Everything I know about writing, and especially about revising and editing, I owe to these people. This also includes most of what I know about baking from scratch, smiling through the worst of days, being an individual part of a team, and creating a family among your colleagues. :) (PS: That means that all grammar mistakes I ever make are not because I did not have a strong team teaching me better.)

It's interesting that I have grown to love the greater St. Louis area more in the last 9 months than in the four years before it. More interesting is how much I will miss this city. I spent four years trying to get out, and now I'm all sad and mushy about it. I look forward to being back.

365 days after graduation. I have learned, and I have grown. I made a few mistakes, and built stronger relationships. I failed some, and I won some more. Here's to the hopefulness of summer, and to another year as a post-grad.

xoxo

Thursday, April 11, 2013

My Happy List

I've been inspired by this video to make a happy list.



Here go a few that I can think about right now.

1. The perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream and crunchy cone on a chill Sunday afternoon
2. Pandora playing Macklemore's "Thrift shop" while I'm at Goodwill on the day that I committed to spend 20 bucks and only 20 bucks.
3. Listening to people talk about the things they love.
4. Taking a tangent on Whatsapp and ending up at a deep convo and then going back to cat video commentary.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Happy New Month/I'm Going to Be Funny

It’s new month resolution time -- albeit seven days late. This month, I am making a conscious effort to be funny. If not funny, engaging. Yes, the space in my head where I spend most of my time is all-accepting and unconditionally-loving. Everything I say up there (i.e. think) is acceptable and patiently dissected for maximum understanding. But if I’m going to share that stuff with you and expect you to engage with it, I have to make it worth your while, yes? Glad, that’s settled. :) Cheers to conscious efforts!

In unrelated news, it's been three days since the general election and Kenyans still do not have a new president. Oh, the wonders of the democratic process!