Identity politics

27/08/17

This post, I think, is long past due, and I would like to preface it with a TED talk by author Taiye Selasi titled Don't ask where I'm from, ask where I'm a local. (Also by the author, check out Bye-Bye Babar).

I'm from Guiné Bissau. I was not born there, nor have I ever lived there substantially and the memories I have are only from holidays spent in the capital. My creole is diluted by foreign tongues and I'm often told that I am not a real Guinean. But my passport says Républica da Guiné Bissau so I am for all intents and purposes a Guinean. I have come to a place in my life where I do not let others define my identity for me because they cannot possibly grasp its complexity. In fact, I feel that people should worry about who they are to themselves and not who others are according to concepts we've constructed (seriously, listen to Taiye Selasi's talk) but I digress.

I have always had, and will continue to have a powerful sense of allegiance towards Guiné Bissau. Now, allegiance is all well and good, however, I feel that because my experiences have been stretched beyond any one country's borders, my heart cannot possibly belong to any one place. When sh*t hits the fan, fair enough, I will return to the one place from where I cannot be removed, but I find that nationalism is too limiting because who I am is an amalgamation of the different cultures I've come in contact with, whether it be in absolute national terms of in the more abstract "citizen of Africa". 

I will surely not renounce the national part of my identity, but with it comes pressure to "fulfill duties to my country" by "going back" (by the way, I've recently read an interesting article by author Priscilla Takondwa called Dear African Abroad: Home is NOT waiting for you, and you should check it out).Truthfully though, my heart is not set on returning permanently to a country that has not raised me. This isn't to say that my talents will not be invested there. It simply means that they will also be invested in Ghana, and in Namibia, and Mozambique and Zimbabwe and wherever else I may find myself on the continent because my identity continues to evolve and hybridize with my experiences.

I've had debates with groups of friends about this notion of going back (shout-out Sister Circle, peep some of their blogs here, here and here!) I remember fully advocating for it but there were two things I was not clear on. First, that where people see themselves is a personal matter and it does not tell us necessarily about their beliefs or their individuality. Secondly, when I said that I was definitely "going back" I didn't necessarily mean back to Guinea Bissau, I was speaking generally of the continent; there really is no back to go to in Bissau since it is not a place I have ever made a living in. 

Note that this post is not a prescriptive one. I am not trying to tell people that they should think of their identity as I do mine, and I am not suggesting that identifying with a single nation is wrong. I write this to say that I want to be granted the freedom to discover for myself who I am and where I feel I can belong. I am huge on identity politics, and I think that the lesson that I am getting to in this post is that who I feel in my heart that I am and the way I choose to express this identity are personal matters and these cannot speak on my love for places.

Moving forward from here, I will always advocate going back for those who have imagined it for themselves, I do not want to put pressure on those who haven't. I also never want the African continent to be dismissed because of the pervasive stereotypes so I will continue rebuking those. People are still living there, experiences will inevitably vary depending on one's social standing, but we have much to offer and much to be grateful for. Eventually, I want to create workshops with panels on the realities of returning, the futures that people wanted to make back home after studying, and the futures that they've actually made. I also want to join/create a network for those of us who have never been anywhere long enough to develop roots. "International school kid" is an identity in itself and outside of this community, I've felt alienated for being too much of something or not enough of something else.

I am nervous about the reactions I will receive on this post. I have often sensed a lot of negativity and have quickly been set apart for my thoughts on repatriation and the nagging feeling I've had that it might not be for me. I have often been told that I think I am European for doing so, and I've grown thick skin. I think people misunderstand me; they seem to think that I think myself too highly for this or that lifestyle, but all that makes me think is that they think that they are more evolved than me for having a greater dedication to the cause i.e. repatriation, so where does the condescension start and end? 

I am guilty of having used that rhetoric with persons of African heritage who were born and raised in Europe. I have much too often suggested that they think themselves European and that they didn't know their place as Africans. But the truth is, why shouldn't they identify with the surroundings they've grown in if it is where they see themselves fitting in? I was mistaken for thinking myself blacker than thou, and more African than thou. The same remarks made about me rub me the wrong way, and the hypocrisy has to end.

Make no mistake, I have no illusions about Africa because of the opportunities that I was blessed to have and I will never sit quietly and have someone make me apologetic for the blessings, but dismissing my sentiments also dismisses that I may be more adapted and therefore more efficient in an English speaking African country, to give a simplified example.

I love Guiné Bissau. That fact will never change and where I find myself in this life is not a reflection of my love for it.

I am conflicted because this love has come to mean necessarily that I must go back when my truth is that I want my efforts to spread continentally. Where I start is not definite. This isn't to say that I am not proud of my heritage or that I'm not grateful for my language or my family's traditions - to my ears, our creole is hands down the most beautiful language that exists.

Carrying ourselves as we are in our spirit is not self-evident in a world that shapes its expectations from who it thinks we are and words have had a one step forward, two steps back effect on my unlearning and relearning of myself. Certainly, I am always working to contribute to Guiné's development and upliftment. I only ask that I may love the other countries that have helped raise this fidju di Guiné*. 

P.S. 

The talented Johanna Manga wrote a song called Diaspora (Lá-bas) about this very issue. Click play and give it a listen! (It's in French, but below are original and translated lyrics, though maybe learn French cause it just ain't the same in English.)


Lyrics (FR)

Je suis née dans un pays
Que je ne connais pas
Je sillonne les rues de ma ville
Mais je ne suis pas chez moi
Et de ma bouche sortent des mots
Qui ne m'appartiennent pas
Étrangère parmi mes frères,
J'espère que peut être là bas

Là bas
Là où le soleil ne brille pas
Est-ce que je serai chez moi?
Où les consonnes de mon nom
N'ont plus la valeur qu'elles avaient autrefois
Là bas
Où le bonheur est une image
Et on court à perdre sa voie
Le sang qui coule dans mes veines
Se mêle
À celui que je n'ai pas
Là bas

Minorités indivisibles
Montrez votre visage
Sur nos cartes qu'ils ont dessinées
Où est votre village?
Et si ma peau me semble trop lourde
Sans mon camouflage
Une partie de moi, mes racines, qui je suis, restent là bas
Là bas

Là bas
Là où le soleil ne brille pas
Est-ce que je serai chez moi?
Où les consonnes de mon nom
N'ont plus la valeur qu'elles avaient autrefois
Là bas
Où le bonheur est une image
Et on court à perdre sa voie
Le sang qui coule dans mes veines
Se mêle
À celui que je n'ai pas
Là bas

Peu m'importe où je vais, je trouverai la solution
Mais mon seul problème,

C'est rentrer à la maison

(EN)

I was born in a country I don’t really know
I wander the streets of my city
But I don’t feel at home
And my mouth speaks the words
Of a language that doesn’t belong to me
Stranger amongst my brothers,
I hope that maybe « there »

Over there
Where the sun doesn’t shine as bright
Will I find my home?
Where the music of my last name
Loses the value it once had
Over there
Where happiness is a picture
And it’s pursuit makes you lose yourself
The blood in my veins
Mixes with foreign ones
Over there

Undivided minorities
Show your faces
On these maps of ours that they traced
Where is your village?
And if my skin becomes too heavy a burden
Without my camouflage
Part of me, my roots, who I am, will stay over there
Over there

Over there
Where the sun doesn’t shine as bright
Will I find my home?
Where the music of my last name
Loses the value it once had
Over there
Where happiness is a picture
And it’s pursuit makes you lose yourself
The blood pumping through my veins
Is mixed with the one that I don’t have
Over there

No matter where I go, I will find a way
My only problem, is how do I get back home?

*Child of Guiné.