"The Unwritten Rules"

This minority thing is still kinda new to me, after all, it's only been four years. Where I come from, everyone looks like me, speaks like me, eats the same food that I do, and so on, and anyone who doesn't is the weird one. In college, I got used to being the strange one, but given my college's high international student enrollment (my freshman class alone had 13 Kenyans) there were plenty other people with whom I could be the "strange one". As I move into the work place, I know that things will be different, especially while I am still in the States. It's quickly becoming time for me to get used to being the only Kenyan, the only African, or the only person of color in certain environments.

As always, YouTube is my go to for these kind of intimidating, never-have-I-ever-experienced-this-before-what-should-I-do? experiences. And even without actually looking for it, I found this web-series, "The Unwritten Rules" that speaks to the rules of decorum that black people find themselves having to follow within the work place. It's comical and mostly satirical but already with my six-months of post-grad working experience I can related to the episode about hair.




I found one of the later episodes, about the party particularly intriguing. Why are black women viewed as anti-interracial relationships? Where did this come from?

Thanks to the guys at InkSpot. I may not need to apply their advice, but I can laugh about it and maybe use it as an ice-breaker about those tense race-related topics if they ever come up at work? Maybe.

Recycled | Random Thoughts pt. 3

I was just thinking about this rant. It's from a little over four years ago, when I was applying to college and trying really hard to convince my mum to let me go to Europe for university. It's interesting that all my reasons for wanting an accent still stand (but my perception of a US accent has definitely grown). I haven't edited it -- although I should -- I wanted to preserve my 18 year-old voice, comma errors and all.

I really should come up with a proper title...

I am shopping for an accent/twang (yes, the word is ‘twang’ – I looked it up in the Oxford English Dictionary). Of course not the kind that suits me like a pair of purple contact lenses, which if you have, I'm sure look good on you and which BTW I am still going to get, just the sort that when I open my mouth to talk, any of the following happens:

1. I get a job at one of our bigger media houses, noticed how lately anyone in the media has at least an accent or a twang? What really blows my mind is the inconsistency of the pronunciations. The Kenyan-twang is a mish-mash of all available accents: American, British, Australian, French, Mandarin- you name it. Basically, what yours sounds like to others depends entirely on what phonetics you choose to borrow from whatever region.

2. I get prompt service at Java, especially the one in Adam's. What's with them? Do I have to look foreign to get service? And you wonder why I sit for several hours, use your free internet and leave without ordering anything- you owe me at least that much, you biased people!!! It’s not so much as to get prompt service, than it is about gloating. Clearly, being that the colour of my skin is very far from not-black, I would still get ignored. However, I would derive so much pleasure out of complaining to one of the waitresses in my foreign tongue- make her feel the pinch of losing that forex money, and make sure her manager feels the same pain, only three times more.

3. People try to remember my last name if I had introduced myself, try to learn it if otherwise, or befriend me because you never know what MP, Minister, Ambassador or other prominent person spawned me and paid ridiculous tuition so that I attend school in a foreign country. Even though on further exploration of the fact, there exists a miracle known as Financial Aid, which means that the tuition need not be expensive but who cares? It is quoted in dollars and pound sterling! There are added benefits to this get-to-know-you-better; complimentary tickets and invitations to lavish parties, where I have to sit through another session of mixed up twangs. On that note, I love those people who twang with a shrub. I mean “Wow W, tharr is such a rovery dress. I should nget me one of those sometime.”

So as I shop, I wonder, Kenyan English with a hint of British? Because granted, Europeans have more class. Ama I go for good ol' American and sound like I watched too many movies and listened to too much Hip Hop? Note, the point is not to come off as a fake but a more 'polished' form of myself.

Obviously, as with everything there are downsides to all this adaptation. It isn’t all too glossy. Because once I take on my new talk, I am bound to lose a few “friends”. People that are obviously cut from the same judgmental cloth as the new crowd that I will be hanging out with. You know the guys that claim I am not “down to earth, anymore” or those that think, “she feels hot and snubbish, nowadays”. Why would the way I talk change anything about the experiences we would have shared so far?

While I'm at it, I need a whole new wardrobe. What's the point of having a ka-accent if I lack the fashion sense of my peeps from whom I borrowed the accent?

I was so much funnier when I was younger. He he.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY U.S. CITIZEN FRIENDS

For what it's worth, your country has a democracy that works. With all the bickering and Washington drama, I know it doesn't seem that way. But (I'm about to pull the "I'm from an African country -- pity me" card) I come from a place where, erm, our politicians really are pigs. So much so that we call our Members of Parliament, MPigs. Because they are only after their own interests. Indeed, that is what politics is about, but your politicians at least consider their constituents. Sure that might be big oil and not the farmer in Idaho, but at least they care for other people besides themselves and their bank accounts.

I'm sitting here watching jealously -- like a kid at recess who doesn't have toys, watching their classmate play with the flashiest Lego set -- how you have thousands of people engaged in the political process; how much, regardless of the left/right split, your politics are about more than just tribal affiliations and what part of the country the representatives are from; how much fun speeches can be because the people writing them, and the people delivering them, are extremely passionate about what they believe in.

This is me, as the kid who can't get the flashy toy, asking you, the kid with the awesome Lego set to please, please, please, build the living daylights out of that set. You have that privilege, use it to the max. Please, register to vote if you haven't. Register for an absentee vote if you aren't close. Please go out and vote on election day. (Heck, you guys have an electronic voting system!) You may think you don't care, please care. You may not realize it, but politics dictates even the air you breathe. Figure out who's closet to the values that are most important to you and go for that guy. Decide for yourself, don't let anyone dictate your choice, and please, please, go out and vote.

Signed,

Me and my Kenyan friends watching the election process enviously, and all other people around everywhere wishing they could go out and vote.

Currently Reading...

I'll tell you one of the biggest perks of being done with undergrad life is that I can finally get some time to read a novel or two without feeling even a wee-bit guilty. I set out to read a book a week for the summer and managed to get as far as week five before finally Obama's "The Audacity of Hope" and Saima Wahib's "In My Father's Country" slowed me down.

The first one is President Obama's recollection of his years in Congress and as an Illinois senator. I was a little fooled that the book would be a light autobiography. It has plenty of that, but it is also filled with discussions of the US constitution (he was a constitutional law professor after all) and policy recommendations for congress and so on. It's not the kind of book that I wanted to (or even could) breeze past in a week. Three weeks in, after only managing a third of the book, I put it aside for lighter reads. I've edited my originally ambitious plan for this book, I'll try a chapter a week so that I can unpack it.

The second I found in the book-giveaway shelf (yes, free books up for grabs) of another department of the place I interned for over the summer. It caught my eye because it is set in Afghanistan and I am generally curious about the Middle East -- in a "I'm probably never going to experience this for myself" kind of way. But it was really hard to read. I must say, I loved that the author painted a very vivid picture of the US Military efforts in post-9/11 Afghanistan. I benefited from reading about more than the casualties and the atrocities. Instead of a general US-Army good/Suicide bomber bad view, the account provides a more humanized complexity of the mistakes that the US troops make and the intentions behind them, as well as explaining from an Afghani and a Pashtun's perspective why these attempts of good-will are actually insults.

And finally, a friend of mine recommended (and later gave me) these next series of books after I talked about Saima Wahib's "In My Father's Country" and Khaled Hosseini's books. It's a mystery/whoddunit by an American author, Zoe Ferraris, set in Saudi Arabia. The book offers a different view of the region. Ferraris was married to a Saudi Arabian and lived in the country for a significant number of years and thus, I would like to trust she knows about what she's writing about -- but a few instances made me pause and have to remind myself that an American wrote the book. All the same, I rushed through the book I was reading between part 1 and part 2 of the series so that I could get to part 2 and be absorbed in the world of Katya and Nayir -- I'm trying not to give spoilers.

This is my attempt to get back to blogging about my life because I am awesome! Please, bear with me!

Introductions [Updated]

There are about 17, 000, 000 blogs created every day. That was January 2012. How many more are there now?

Welcome to one more.

My name is Atieno. I have a first name -- an English name -- by which most people know me. But I like the look of "Atieno" in text. I'll probably introduce myself differently if we ever meet. And I refer to myself differently within the blog when it applies. But calling me "Atieno" makes me smile. It's a novelty.

At the time I am writing this, I am almost a college graduate. I don't know how much further in the future you are reading this, but my hope is that that status has changed.

I like writing, although this should not be taken to mean that I write creative pieces. I learned early that my creativity can stretch only so far. I am passionate about self-expression. In writing. In speech. In art. I believe strongly in articulating the innermost corners of our mind in ways that can be understood by those outside our minds. So when I say I like writing, I mean, I am enthusiastic about articulately and accessibly conveying my thoughts. Or something like that.

To start you off with the cliches, I find myself in a situation that many others before me have experienced. I toiled 8 years in primary school, and then four years in high school and four more years in college, soooo, now what?

This blog is about that. And then some.