African vs. African-American

After some passing years I am re-discovering and focusing on my African roots again.  As I've written in a previous post, I consider myself to be an African in America even though my historical ties to Africa were cut a few centuries ago.  I was born in America, but genetically I will always be an African, and I refuse to deny it, be ashamed of it, or fear it.  

The first foreign country I lived in was in Africa.  In the last 9 years I've forged ties to Turkey and traveled and worked there many times.  Turkey was an episode in my life.  I appreciate the friendship I had with Turkish people, the acquaintances I made, and enjoyed working with Turkish students, but I am not Turkish.  There are some similarities in my family background to experiences found in Turkish culture (ie. close knit family on my mom's side, strict parents), but most non-Western cultures share some similarities, and even though I was born in the West my outlook is not completely Western.  Most of my life I've felt like an outcast and a hybrid.  It has been especially difficult for me being so different because I live in the American Deep South and I am also quite intellectual in my outlook which is something that's rather unique with most blacks and whites in the South and throughout America.  African-American culture is also quite dictatorial in its' views on conformity. Most African-Americans are very much in the box thinkers.  We are not going stray too far outside the herd. For me, to stray away from t the herd has made it a tough journey.  Still I have no regrets for refusing to conform.

From the first I've gotten along fine with Africans I've met. I was curious about them, and I was surprised that they were curious about me.  Perhaps they were because I didn't act like the "typical American."  I've gotten the comment from many foreign people that I don't act like the average or typical American. I am who I am.  It really is no act.  I was always different and felt out of place here.  I tried to conform in early middle school, but my attempt failed and from then on I've developed my own individuality and personality without even the fear of being alone.  I'm human and I get lonely sometimes, but I'd much rather be myself than compromise by putting on a mask.  

I ran across the above video on YouTube a few weeks ago. The young woman in it is of Ugandan and Jamaican parentage. Growing up she experienced a great deal of intra-racial prejudice from African-Americans.  

On social media I'm getting more and more followers and people on my friend's lists who are Africans. I follow a number of African and Afrocentric pages on Facebook.  I've started reading Afrocentric history and works by African writers once again.  

More and more Africans seem to be more visible online these days. It's a good idea for African- or black Americans (some of us don't like to be called African-American) to connect with them.  Africans reach out to me, and I reach back.  Many African-Americans have negative feelings towards Africans. Online I've encountered almost all the blame for slavery being lain at the door of Africans.  It used to be Arabs only, now dark skinned Africans are blamed. 

There are some whites who meddle and want to ease the blame from their history.  They are quick to point out to African-Americans that the Africans sold you into slavery.   Some of them do this whenever they see an American black who wants to seek their historical, cultural, and genetic identity.  I don't feel it's their business, but perhaps at the core of their words is a fear that blacks on the continent and in the Diaspora will eventually unite.  What might happen if they do? Oppressed people are best kept fragmented.  

Many Africans speak two or more languages. Often when they come to America they arrive to further their education they are very dedicated students.  Perhaps some whites fear that we will begin to value education and hook up with the Africans.  If we stop feeling that learning and education is "white," that would mean more competition between whites and blacks here.  

I first met Africans was when I was a university student.  The very first was my roommate. She was from Nigeria, and her father was a doctor.  I was a freshman at Spelman College, and in the freshman class only her, me, and one or two other girls were serious about why we were at the school.  Most of the others were mainly concerned with dating and partying.  Bola, was one of the most studious people I had ever encountered then or since.  In fact, she was a fanatic about studying, getting up early in the morning to hit the books before classes.  After classes she rarely came back to the dorm until late. She stayed in the library until closing time.   

Later in graduate school at the University of Georgia I met African students, some of whom were Ph.D. candidates. They were mainly from countries like Somalia, Malawi, and Kenya.  

Much later I was in Peace Corps in Botswana. I felt for the first time that I come to my true home. I felt so much pride to learn the African National Anthem in Setswana and to see black people controlling their own country where the whites were only the guests.  No one talked about color even against racist apartheid South Africa which was just next door.  The Africans and whites referred to each other by their nationalities. 

I met people in Botswana from African countries such as Ethiopia, South Africa, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Ghana.  I was struck by the natural elegance in which the African women carried themselves. There was an aura and softness about them that many African-American women lack.  They were not boastful or seemed as if they were compelled to put on a big show that they were strong women. Some African-American women often declare that, "I'm a strong black woman,"  but I never heard any African woman say this.  I never  saw one African woman act like she felt she had to prove something.  I haven't been on the continent for years, but I don't seen such statements coming from African women in social media. The ones I've observed seem to have a quiet strength and knowledge.  

There is a pungent scene in the mini-series Roots when Kunta Kinte is being whipped by the white overseer because he refuses to relinquish his African name and take the slave name Toby.  Even though he is beaten unconscious Kunta says his African name up until the time he passes out from the pain.  Despite being kidnapped from his homeland and becoming a captive and a slave, Kunta Kinte tries his best to retain tiny remembrances and remnants of his culture close to him and in his memory.  He gives his only child an African name.  He never turned his back on his true home.  

For a brief time, back in the 1970s particularly, African-Americans tried to connect with the "Motherland" as many here referred to the continent.  Many men and women wore their hair in Afros, the bigger the better.  Some wore African inspired prints and dashikis. Some couples didn't want to dress in the Western way at their weddings.  They insisted on wearing African garb when they tied the knot.  For some the black existence didn't begin for them in America; they wanted to read about African history and the struggle.  They refused to accept the Hollywood version of ancient Egyptians and some even went so far as to say Jesus was black.  "Black is beautiful" and "Black Power" were charms that gave them confidence, pride, and a sense of hope.  

Now 40 or more years later we have regressed and are back where we came from. In many cases we are in a worse shape.  Many African-Americans are lost identity wise. So much of our so-called culture is based on negativity.  I believe a lot of this comes from unacknowledged despair.  We're devastated spiritually and mentally as a people. Western materialism is not the cure for us or anyone else, but we know nothing else to cling to.  Our things can't save us, make us whole or teach us how to be good husbands, wives, and parents. Families are the basis of any society, and in the African-America marriage and family is nearly extinct. 

There is a kind of silent war raging both in the white dominated culture and within us.  One of the worse aspects of this war is our denial, indifference, and hatred of our African roots. I remember when I was a child how some of the black kids used to make fun of Africans saying they were all ugly and jet-black.  The only African people they ever saw were in National Geographic or on TV. Africans were always described as primitive, warlike, or undernourished.  Their traditional faiths were seen as wicked and dangerous. 

When I met my first live Africans I was surprised how some of them looked like blacks in America.  I saw how some were very dark like the Somalis and Zambians,  but also so attractive and charming.  I'd learned years ago that skin color didn't determine physical loveliness.  I also was impressed how learned some of the Africans were.  Their accents were melodious and soothing.  They were like us blacks, but also very different. I had never seen whites or blacks in America with the kind of aura I sensed in the Africans.  I felt like to talk to them and enjoy their company continuously for days.

Now with social media, African-Americans and Africans have the opportunity to connect, but I doubt if most will.  From my experience most Africans will not be standoffish unless African-Americans behave that way. They will reach out to us. Now in some cases they won't and will even have an elitist attitude towards African-Americans.  However, this has not happened to me except one or two times.  This old article called African vs. African-American: A Shared Complexion Does Not Guarantee Racial Solidarity is still relevant and a must read.  

We have a president who is part African. Over 90% of African-Americans support him and many even have a cult-like worship for him.  Strangely even though some of us hate Africans, we love Obama unquestioningly. We either overlook, dismiss, ignore, are ignorant of, make excuses for any of his wrongdoing.  Obama shows very little sign that he identifies with his black or African side. Some of us make excuses and say with pride that unlike a lot of brothers who move up in the world he didn't marry a white woman or a light skinned black woman.  He married a dark sister, not realizing that a person can have scorn or distaste for an entire race, but will sometimes date or even marry one from that race for which he or she has racist feelings towards.  The one who is liked, loved or "loved," is seen as perhaps an exceptional case and less distasteful as the group he or she came from.  All of our posturing aside, most African-Americans like many Americans are politically naive and reckless while making choices in the political process. . Life just comes in a couple of shades, and that is all we can see or will allow ourselves to see.  

I feel one day we are really going to need the Africans. Our history did not begin with the brutality and crime of slavery. Our history goes back hundreds and thousands of years.  We should learn about it and be proud of it.   It's well past time to re-establish contact with our people and overcome our prejudices and racism against folks who bare some of the same DNA as us.  

In January I will begin trying to contribute my own part in rebuilding our connections with our people. I have asked one of the community centers here in town if I might teach a course using J.A. Rogers' first volume of World's Great Men of Color.  The community center director who is white unhesitatingly agreed to have me teach a course at the center when I presented him with my idea.   It will be a hard task of conquering indifference or dislike of Africans, but I am going to try.   Also I am fully aware that history is not interesting or important to a lot of people in this society.  Africa is overlooked, even by some of its' own born there.  

We live in an era when white Western culture dominates the world and worldview of many who aren't even white or Western.  I feel that my people need to start learning who they really are.  The time of shame and being whipped and beaten in our minds like Kunte Kinte needs to come to an end.  

Robert Merle's Book Ahmed Ben Bella

Robert Merle's book Ahmed Ben Bella was written over forty-five years ago.  I finished it a few days ago. Ahmed Ben Bella was a freedom fighter for the Algerian people against French colonial rule, a Pan-Arabist and Pan-Africanist who was the first president of Algeria.  He died two months ago on April 11th at the age of 93.  Ben Bella was charismatic and smart.  He spent many years in jail and exile, but in the end he was revered as an elder statesmen in Arab and African countries.  He was only president for about two years when his close friend overthrew him in a coup.  He was a socialist and devout Muslim.  

Robert Merle did fifteen audio taped interviews with Ahmed Ben Bella in 1963, lasting from two to three hours.  These interviews were formulated into the book Ahmed Ben Bella which is told in the subject's own words.  Ben Bella's story of his life is simple, moving, and sometimes almost poetic.  As a young person he saw all the male members of his family, his father and brothers, die long before himself.  His father was a fellah which is a peasant farmer. He also owned a business.  When Ben Bella was growing up Algeria had been ruled by the French for many decades, and the Algerians were treated by the colons or French settler population in ways similar to how blacks were treated in the US during Jim Crow.  Most Americans raised on hearing all the time about the Arab-Israeli conflict would find interesting that Ben Bella said the Jewish and Muslim populations in Algeria were actually quite close.  Algerians found themselves not only oppressed, but they were also culturally and linguistically colonized because many could speak very little of their own native language which is Arabic.  Ben Bella himself remained throughout his life more fluent in French than in Arabic, a fact which very much pained him. 

The turning point in Ben Bella's remarkable life was when he was a school boy.  A French teacher of his insulted Islam one day in class, and he was so outraged that he spoke out.  His bravery nearly got him suspended from school, but in the end he remained, however, his outlook about his country's situation had changed forever.  From that time on he grew determined to stand up for his people and perhaps someday witness their freedom.  

Near the end of the book I came across some points that were real eye openers to me and got me to really ponder things that are now happening in Africa and the Middle East, especially with the revolutionary (more like counter) cataclysm that started last year called the Arab Spring, the fierce wave that I believe will eventually destroy most of the Muslim and Arab world because outside forces led by the US are using young and naive Muslims, and those who don't really know their Quran to cause internecine fighting that will ultimately smash their societies and cultures. I believe it is the same thing that was done to the Native American, the African and others who have been victims of aggressive Western European culture for the last 600 years.  The division and conquest of the Muslim and Arab world has begun, and I take it very seriously when people like Tony Blair say that Islam must be eliminated. I'm not Muslim, but I believe the plan to eradicate Islam is very real.  

When Ben Bella and his people were in the midst of their struggle, the situation was very different among Muslims and Arabs than now.  Today Muslims in the Middle East and North Africa seem to be fractured, more and more disunited, sheep that are easily picked off by wolves, happily cooperating with people pretending to be altruistic, but who really want their destruction. It seems to me that they lack confidence and vision. Their youngsters seem confused and overly eager to be embraced by people who only look down on them or want to manipulate them. They seem to lack the spirit, steadfastness, moral backbone, and confidence of an Ahmed Ben Bella. Ben Bella said this about the Arab countries during Algeria's war for independence:

Egypt had given us immense assistance from the start, and all the Arab countries helped us to a lesser degree.  And I mean all the Arab countries, including even the least progressive ones such as Jordan and Saudi Arabia. The charming Queen Dina of Jordan even lent us her yacht to transport arms to the Moroccan coast... (pg.95)

The counter-revolution in Libya happened last year, and it turned out to be horrifically violent with US/NATO and other countries like Saudi Arabia and Qatar supporting and aiding rebels who not only slaughtered and killed the average Libyan but who also targeted the minority black Libyan population.  Months ago I read about signs being placed around Libya saying the slaves (meaning the blacks) must be driven out.  I heard a young Libyan in London in an interview tell that he had noticed how some Libyan people had changed on a visit home. They had become more selfish.  Other sources said that the biggest problem was with Libyan expatriates who hadn't lived in Libya for years and some of Libyan descent who were not even born there. The Libyans of Ben Bella's generation were very different. Ben Bella had nothing except praise for them.  

Of all the Arab countries, I like Libya the best.  Apart from my own countrymen, there are no people so attractive as the Libyans. They are simple, intelligent, and affectionate; it is as though the beauty of the climate had entered into their souls.  Whenever I think about them, I always wonder at their inexhaustible kindness, their capacity for friendship, and their purity of spirit. They have lived far from the turbulence of great cities and they have not been corrupted.  In Libya, even the  most reactionary bourgeois behaves in a way which is somehow attractive. (pg. 101)

After the long struggle to help free his country and imprisonment in France even during the fight for independence, Ben Bella came to the US to speak at the UN after he became president. He also was very happy to meet President Kennedy.  

I liked Kennedy even before I had met him because I knew that, as long as 1957, he had made a speech calling for Algerian independence....He gave me the impression of a courageous and honest man, but he seemed to be subjected to endless pressure and to be, to an extraordinary degree, the prisoner of a system. (pg. 136)

When socializing with Americans on a diplomatic level, Ben Bella refused to drink alcohol while some of his fellow Algerians who were less devout and too willing to please and fit in with their hosts did so.  Throughout the book and with this example, Ahmed Ben Bella showed himself to be a man who knew who he was, determined to be faithful to his religion and culture, and not one who could be blown and tossed around by any wind.  His impression of America sounds very much like now even though the description was made over forty years ago.

In the United States, I missed the warmth of human relations more than anything else.  America is like a wall: right from the start, those vertical cities with their enormous buildings gave me this impression.  What is missing is communication from man to man.  Although those great American cities are like ant-heaps full of men, they are also like deserts.  I had never seen so many people as I saw in America, but I had never felt so much alone.  In those crowds of human beings, there was an inhuman emptiness; there was a complete absence of human emotions, which to us Algerians are an essential part of life, without which we are unable to breathe. (pg. 138)

What he said is magnified even more so to me than perhaps the average person in this country because I have lived in two societies where human interaction and relationships are important.  If I had only lived in the US I couldn't sense the way he did what a dead zone the society and culture is on many levels.  I would think like many here that this is as good as it gets, or I would be like some who aren't aware of their own loneliness and emptiness.

Like other leaders than and now the US government wanted Ben Bella on their side for their own interests in the end.  They didn't want him to make his own decisions or do what was best for the Algerian people in general.  When they learned he was to visit Cuba after he left DC, the media immediately began to demonize him.  But Ben Bella went on to visit Fidel Castro and Cuba anyway, and the Cubans were massively exuberant after the dead zone he'd recently flow away from. 

When Robert Merle's book was published in 1965 Ahmed Ben Bella had already been overthrown in a coup. His whereabouts were unknown, and Merle who was so impressed by him was very alarmed about the possibility that Ben Bella had been killed.  However, Ben Bella was still alive.  He would marry while in prison and would be there many years with his family.  His wife would become pregnant and lose their first and only biological child, but after coming back from the hospital she would bring another infant that had been abandoned to replace their own. Later they would adopt another child.  Eventually Ben Bella would be freed, live in exile in Switzerland, and then he would go back to Algeria. 

Ahmed Ben Bella is one of the giants from the glory days of Pan-Arabism and Pan-Africanism.  More young people running fast to be enslaved need to read about him and others who fought hard to grant people in their countries and beyond with genuine human dignity not the manufactured, mediocre, degraded,destructive nonsense they now called freedom that corrupts and cripples a person's soul and identity in the end. 

Interviews and more about Ahmed Ben Bella:

For Ahmed Ben Bella, The Liberation of the People of the South is Still Unachieved

Egyptian Newspaper Al-Ahram's interview with Ahmed Ben Bella

Ahmed Ben Bella Inspired Millions Around the World

And a video honoring him.

Two Short Stories of Two Strong Men

I love stories.  Good stories have a lot of power if we open our minds and hearts to them.  People who think past the shallows love good stories with meaning and lessons that replicate real life.  In the last few days I have been exposed to two stories of two strong men.  One of the strong men I knew personally.  The other I did not.  One was a devout Christian.  The other was a devout Muslim and was briefly the leader of an African country when I was a very little girl.  These two strong men were my grandfather J.C. and the other was Ahmed Ben Bella.  My grandfather died in 1987, we believe at the age of 72.  He was never really sure of his birth date. My grandfather was a farmer and carpenter.  Ahmed Ben Bella died last week at age 93.  He helped in the liberation of his country, Algeria, from over a century of French colonial rule, and he was the first president of Algeria from 1963 to 1965 when he was overthrown.  He spent over 2 decades in prison, went into exile in Europe, and later came back to his homeland and functioned as an elder statesman.  He was respected not only in Arab but also in African countries as a freedom fighter and liberator.  

These two men both experienced discrimination.  My grandfather was biracial.  He was illiterate, but he knew how to survive.  Racial discrimination was a fully open and accepted way of life when he was growing up and into his adult years.  Ahmed Ben Bella saw discrimination at school from one of his teachers who was biased against the students because they were Muslim and Arab. One African I follow on Twitter said the other day that Ahmed Ben Bella had "more than nine lives."  He was the ultimate survivor.   

I've read some of the things that Ahmed Ben Bella said and like my granddad he was unafraid to speak the truth and stand up for what is right.  I remember my grandfather as a very quiet man who spoke slowly with a old fashioned black southern brogue.  He went to church regularly, and he and my grandmother both believed in helping others and providing hospitality to both blacks and whites.  Before I was born and my mother was a girl, my grandfather had a rebellious streak.  He did not tolerate being taken advantage of from his white employers.  Perhaps he got away with what he did because he looked more or less white.  My mother told me a story this weekend about an incident.  He had done work for some white people.  When it was time to eat, he was told they would give him a meal, but he would have to eat it outside.  Granddaddy responded audaciously that he had a kitchen, chairs, a table, and a wife who could cook him some food; he got in his car and left.  

Mom said they often worried that my granddad would get into serious trouble one day for speaking his mind, but he never did. It was the American South under Jim Crow, and he could have been attacked or killed for being blunt to white people.  By the time I knew my granddad he had mellowed.  But I understand more and more now the source of my own outspokenness, but mine has arrived later in life. My outspokenness comes from not only dad and sometimes even mom, but also my grandfather.  We are as proud as some Eastern peoples from ancient cultures, and we don't take humiliation and disrespect lightly.

A few days after Ahmed Ben Bella's death, I found an interview he'd done about twelve years ago for an Egyptian newspaper.   I was fascinated by the story of how he met his wife.  He was single when he had briefly been president.  He didn't marry until he was middle aged and was in prison.  Ahmed Ben Bella's mother was very concerned that he was still single.  He said in the interview that he had resigned himself to remaining unmarried because his life was devoted to the liberation struggle.  Later he was married, I read in another newspaper, by proxy.  A young female journalist who had visited him in jail decided she would marry him. They wed after seeing each other only three times.  It must have been love at first sight.  Yes, I'm still a romantic a heart, but I reside in a tough world, and I'm also a black woman in America, and at my age I have no illusions left... 

I thought it was so heartwarming the devotion of Ahmed Ben Bella's wife, joining her husband in prison.  There are very few people in this culture now who will stick by each other through thick and thin.  The few who still get married have eliminated the old phrases out of the marriage vows, and not much is left now. 

I read in another online paper in an obituary that Ahmed Ben Bella's wife was taken from the prison to have a baby in a hospital, but she miscarried.  When she was brought back to join her husband she had a day old abandoned infant girl with her.  Later the couple adopted a handicapped child.  I was really affected by the compassion of these two people taking two kids whom no one else probably wanted.  Ahmed Ben Bella said his daughter spent her first seven years in prison with him and his wife.  His wife was permitted to leave the prison to visit her family from time to time, but she was devoted to sharing his hardship and isolation with him. 

These two stories that I learned about in the last week are wonderful in their own ways. I wanted to tell them because I hope that whomever reads this will think.  I try to help people to think.  A good writer doesn't put down every little detail. There should be gaps, mysteries which make one wonder.  I ask questions to jar people's hearts sometimes.  I know many hate to think, but thinking and more than just thinking on a base level is important.  Deep thinking is very important.  Deep thinking leads to not only knowledge but also character, and it is never too late to increase knowledge and develop a good character.  

Even though my grandfather looked white, he identified fully with other blacks no matter what their hue was.  He always considered himself a black man.  He identified with the oppressed.  

I love these words of Ahmed Ben Bella which really state where his identity lay,  "I am Muslim first, Arab second and then Algerian. I am also proud to be an African."  

I too will always identify with the those who are strong in overcoming the perilous portions of life and the oppressed no matter where they are.   Since things will never be fully just in the country where I live,  I identify myself as an African. Africa was the first region (Turkey was second) where I first felt full acceptance and welcome, and I will always feel a gratefulness to Africans and an extreme fondness.