by ThinkSayBe | Feb 8, 2022 | 2022, North America, Race, The Americas, USA
Dear reader, thank you for coming by again. If you’d like to read the first part to this post, please read Identity: A Geographical Perspective.
Sophia in the United States of America
My first home away from home was Santa Monica, California. It was beautiful. I would walk everywhere. Once I saw Keanu Reeves casually walking to an apartment three doors down from me, like he wasn’t Neo from the Matrix. Hahaha!
A lot of people looked at me. It is only recently that I noticed that people usually look at me, and I figure it’s because I’m tall. That is where the Brazilian and Moroccan guesses started rolling in: in Los Angeles County. That’s when I started wondering about my identity on a whole new level, slowly but surely.
My identity crisis culminated eighteen years into my life in the U.S. This is when it became something I had to seriously look at, and decide what kind of action to take. In the early 2000s, I noticed some girls look at me in a strange way (strange to me), when they knew I was with a Black guy. I brushed it off as me seeing things, and it might have been so. I never got the same looks when I dated a White guy or one with my skin color.
In the early 2010s I went to the bank in a predominantly White neighborhood, and was helped by a really nice White man banker. I came back two times later with my husband, who’s Black mixed with Black. I noticed my husband’s whole posture and energy change. He was making himself smaller. He is 6’5″ or so, but it wasn’t just his height he was minimizing. He was making himself non-threatening.
I looked at him curiously, but when I sat with him across from the same White man who had helped me so nicely twice before, I began to understand. The whole thing infuriated me on a level where I couldn’t even say anything. The banker talked to us like we weren’t account holders, like we didn’t belong, like he didn’t have time, and like he forgot how to be as nice as he was earlier that week. It was completely new to me. I couldn’t understand it. Apparently it was the way my husband’s world worked, and I (being …Other and a woman) had never been exposed to it first-hand.
I decided then to open myself up to understanding this world my husband was living in, and that our children might come to live in as well.
The United States Through The Eyes Of A Foreigner
As a foreigner living in the U.S. I feel like an outsider looking in on a very personal family situation. There is so much love, and fear-based hate, and fear-based actions all around. The love should not be ignored, but lately I notice that it is becoming an aspect of the Black/White relationship that isn’t being talked about as much. There is a whole other thing too: I, as a woman with African identity and mixed ethnic heritage, find it super strange when Black women here see me as a disappointment or as a threat. Let me explain. It has taken me SO long to come to face this possibility, and I only bring it up because it has nothing to do with me, I believe, but with an idea.
I have had the pleasure and blessing to be around a lot of people from different cultures and backgrounds. Here in the United States I have been around Black women who have either come to, or are working on coming to a place of self-appreciation and self-worth, and a place where they feel freer to express their African identity and cultures. I don’t seem to get along with the majority of these Black queens. At least not for long-lasting relationships. There has been a small group of them, but by and large, I have remained this Other girl who says she is from Africa but doesn’t look like the African stereotype.
I was MC of this Afrofuturistic event in Columbia, South Carolina once, because this Black King saw my worth before I could even see it. His name is THE Dubber. He’s a rather dope human and musician.
Most people at the event didn’t know who I was, but if you know me, you know I will come say hi with a smile on my face (and in my heart). I will introduce myself and ask you about yourself. I walked into the main room and one of the evening’s artists was there, sitting in a row of chairs. She was a Black girl who was evidently on her journey of finding her magic. I think that’s awesome! Low natural haircut, beautifully moisturized skin, funky outfit, African jewelry, coffee-brown skin. It fit the image of Africa that many people in the United States have. My husband was in front of me so he walked into the room first. She got up, smiled big at him, greeted him and shook his hand, and sat back down. I was right next to him by this point, getting ready to look up again from my planner at the right time, and greet her when she was done greeting my husband, but I guess she didn’t see me. She didn’t even make eye contact with me.
Did you say I could have cut her out of the evening’s schedule? Oh my! You’re such a naughty reader! Haha!
At least she behaved like that to my face, which I appreciate.
I do not pretend to understand the distress of the descendants of enslaved Africans in America. Distress, injustice, disgust, hurt, pain, frustration, trauma, etc…
Yet, I would like to share a perspective from outside the box, and I thank you for lending me your ear.
Power
Power comes with responsibility. A part of that responsibility is to ask what kind of world one wants to live in and what they can do to make it become a reality (if it isn’t already so). With the power that Black people and Brown people, and BIPOC and all marginalized people are sloo-o-o-o-wly gaining, we must ask ourselves this question: what kind of world do we want to live in, and what are we doing about it? I have heard Black friends say they hate White people. Some have said they would never date a White person (some for the sole fact that they would be White, not to do with culture and understanding), some say they won’t teach their kids about anything other than Black excellence and identity. I want to ask…. isn’t that the same kind of biased reality that we are working to get away from? If we start teaching our kids only a part of history, isn’t that history as skewed, but from another viewpoint?
Please consider this: would it be possible for us minorities to not only empower ourselves, but also be empowered by others (if they choose to do so) AND also not disempower others? I understand that if those without power gain it, those with it would have had to relinquish it. That’s fine. But do we have to exclude them entirely like they have done?
If that’s the case, do we know when and how to stop so that we don’t tilt the scales all the way to the other side and miss the point of balance?
We Just Want To Be Understood
I know you don’t know me and can’t verify my intention in saying any of this. I am truly coming from a place of mind and heart in which you and me are the same thing. Whether you believe in a Biblical Adam and Eve, or a scientifically founded story of a set of Eves, or whether you subscribe to the Big Bang theory, or evolution with a different beginning… I don’t know. What I believe is that, scientifically, we are all the outcome of the death of a star, a supernova. The only difference between you, and I, and that tree over there, is how energy and matter is collected (collected: has changed through time to become what it currently is). In truth, we are one.
I also believe we are spiritually connected. So when I ask these questions it is not because I am for any group or identity in particular. It is because I am for all people as one group. One group with varying stories to tell, cultures and traditions to live and share. We will likely always war and fight. We will have defeats and triumphs. In this seemingly pivotal moment in which history is swiftly changing through the use of newer and newer technology, can we decide that we all want to operate based on love? Can we empower ourselves to love ourselves fully? Then we can empower others to love themselves fully.
Can we at least attempt to tell history as factually as it occurred? So that all children of the world know about world history from all viewpoints? The good and the bad, and the understanding that sometimes the (good and bad) sides change. Personally, I am (learning to be) done with proving I belong. I don’t want to assimilate to become American or Black or anything else. I would like to be me. I am African. I have an African nose, and African hair, and African skin. Anything I do is African. LOL. I can’t prove it, you see? It’s kind of a ridiculous notion, now that I think about it after doing that for 22 years of living in the U.S.!
This is a scary post to write, but God knows my intention is to unite people – not take away anyone’s culture or identity – and to make progress without creating an unintended monster on the other side. I hope you understand.
Do you grapple with your identity living in a foreign country? Is this something you are concerned about for your children?
This is an original post for World Moms Network by Sophia.
I am a mom amongst some other titles life has fortunately given me. I love photography & the reward of someone being really happy about a photo I took of her/him. I work, I study, I try to pay attention to life. I like writing. I don't understand many things...especially why humans treat each other & other living & inanimate things so vilely sometimes. I like to be an idealist, but when most fails, I do my best to not be a pessimist: Life itself is entirely too beautiful, amazing & inspiring to forget that it is!
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by ThinkSayBe | Jan 25, 2022 | 2022, North America, Race, The Americas, USA
“Where are you from?”
“What is your ethnicity?”
Do you ever get asked questions about your identity?
How about me? Could you guess my ethnic background or identity? In fact, you could put your answer in the comment section and see if you aren’t alone!
There is going to be some humor in this post. Beware!
My name is Sophia. Like Sophia Loren with the big eyes, or Sofia Vergara with the big breasts. I haven’t called myself these names; I am only (vainly) conveying what people have said since childhood and in later years.
I have consistently been asked these questions: where are you from? What is your ethnicity? At some point I decided to ask the curious person what they thought. The guesses across U.S. state lines varied only slightly: Brazilian, Moroccan, and Indian were the top three guesses. Less than a handful of times someone guessed Italian, Eritrean, and Afghani (I wondered if they had been stalking me, but they just had a good eye for phenotypes).
I am a Mhaya from the Haya tribe of northwest Tanzania, west of Lake Victoria. This is the tribe of my mother and my grandmother, while my great-grandmother was from the Kingdom of Buganda. I am also Punjabi, Afghani, Eritrean, and Italian; and that only covers up to 4 grandparents & my great-grandmother Nshashwoi – I think her name is so awesome! I consider myself all those things, and I am aware of being all of them to some, and one of them to most. At this point in my life I wonder, more than anything else when it comes to this, how I feel about it all and how I identify.
It’s an ongoing question, but I know I am not alone in answering it. I think there are others who are going through the same thing, so I hope this post can help someone with today’s set of… wonderings about their identity.
Sophia in Italia
When I lived in Italy as a kid, I honestly had the best time! We played outside; I ran and ran and ran; we shouted; we had spit contests; we did our homework; we played palla a calcio, aka football or soccer; we hid from the Carabinieri driving by, as if we had done something wrong. I am still in touch with most of my neighbors and elementary school friends; they hold a special and beautiful place in my heart. There were parts of childhood that were tough and in retrospect uncertain, but overall, I think it was pretty great!
The grocers across the narrow street from our house were super nice and let me learn how to do things around the shop when I asked. I never thought anything really deep, when the husband would tease and say “O! Are you getting bananas today? You guys like them where you’re from!” with a big smile on his face. I just thought that was a stupid comment and that he was only making a joke. So I took it as that.
It wasn’t until 20 years later that it dawned on me that in our class, there were just two of us who were not “olive-skin white Italians”. I mean… our olive skin is there, but you know, mixed with some other things like… cardamom and Thai basil.
We tanned really well! No one pointed any of that out, though, and childhood went on as I wish it would for all children.
Sophia in Tanzania
When we moved back to Tanzania I learned Kiswahili and English as quickly as I could. I jumped straight into 6th grade with two-weeks’ worth of English classes, and let me tell you… it was quite the experience! From a class of 18-24 students, all speaking Italian, all friends since yay high, to a class of 90+ students, speaking in languages I didn’t understand, and looking at me like only a part of what I am ethnicity-wise. How dare they!
One girl in particular was really cool. She was African (color omission is intentional) and she knew all these cool English hip-hop songs that I heard in 6th and 7th grade. Our Cameroonian teacher would let us sing them in class. Her English sounded perfect, even though I didn’t know the meaning of all the words we were singing (now that I speak English I can say she does speak it excellently.)
As time passed and I learned to speak the local languages, people started asking me about my ethnic identity; guessing that I was Baluch, Omani, Arab, or Indian. The Somali girls would befriend me and we’d hang out quite a bit. I remember being in Form II (think sophomore year in U.S. high school) and a group of Indian girls asked if I wanted to be friends, to which I said yes. The next morning at school, the group of Indian girls and I waved from across the courtyard.
During that same morning, I met some more friends in class, and during class changes I walked with them to our next destination. Three of the Indian girls from that morning saw me with my new friends, looked at me, hugged their books tightly to their chests, and walked past us like they didn’t know me.
During recess I went to say hi to the Indian girls, and sure enough they had changed their minds about hanging out with me. The only difference that I could think of is that the friends they had seen me with looked pretty coffee-skinned.
It’s so strange to me to say Black, as Black is not a word anyone used to describe our identity; not even the darkest-looking person… unless they were really, really dark… like beautiful moon-lit nights. In this case, someone might have called them ‘of the night‘ or ‘of blackness‘, which was sometimes done in a collective jest that included the person being discussed, and at times it was used to be hurtful.. The more I say, the more wrong it sounds, but I am not here to lie to you or paint a picture that isn’t so. Back to my point, though. Africa is home to so many skin colors, physical features, and hair textures!
So it was, that from that day I chose to not say I was Indian; that included Afghani. I was Tanzanian, Eritrean, and Italian. I didn’t watch Indian movies if I could help it, I didn’t seek out anything to do with my Indian heritage at all. I still ate Indian sweets like gulam jamun because, well… it’s gulam jamun.
I came back to appreciating and happily embracing my Asiatic identity in my 20s. Of course that small group of girls was not a complete representation of all Indians, just as most small groups aren’t a complete representation of a group or an ideology or belief.
This brings us to Sophia In the United States of America, but see, that is an entirely different experience, that requires its own post.
Before I go, I would like to ask you: Did any of this resonate with you? How does it feel? You don’t have to answer that publicly, but you are free to do so.
I hope it feels reassuring or that it helps in some way.
This is an original post for World Moms Network by Sophia.
I am a mom amongst some other titles life has fortunately given me. I love photography & the reward of someone being really happy about a photo I took of her/him. I work, I study, I try to pay attention to life. I like writing. I don't understand many things...especially why humans treat each other & other living & inanimate things so vilely sometimes. I like to be an idealist, but when most fails, I do my best to not be a pessimist: Life itself is entirely too beautiful, amazing & inspiring to forget that it is!
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by Marie Kléber | Jan 16, 2017 | 2017, France, Identity, World Voice
Last week a family member answered one of my questions by « you are such a dreamer! ». This was not a compliment. This was a statement saying something like this “you are so naïve” – “you’re 36, wake up”. I heard this before. I’ve heard it since I took the first step into adulthood.
It made me think.
What’s wrong about being a dreamer? What’s right about not being one?
Should I stop dreaming now? Why? Why should I stop being who I am? Why should I follow the crowd?
Big things happened in this world because at some stage people thought these things were possible.
Everything starts with an idea. Everything is set into motion because people have a dream and believe in it. They make it happen. They have faith.
Do narrow-minded people have dreams?
They don’t. They accept things as they are. Even if these things don’t please them. And if they have some, they don’t follow them, surely thinking it’s not worth it.
Back to the conversation we were having. The family member who said that is old enough to be a grand-dad. Maybe he’s just fed up with life. I am sure he had dreams at some stage (all kids have dreams!) but these dreams vanished. And he’s now left with nothing else but regrets and resentment towards life.
I don’t want to become like him. I hold on tight to my dreams. I dream of a better world. I see life as a wonderful opportunity to share love and light, to learn tolerance and respect, to help one another and to build step by step, all together, a peaceful planet.
If people stop dreaming, what our world is going to be like? What will we get if we don’t imagine tomorrow’s world? What will happen is we stop creating and just accept violence, greed, injustice?
I am a Dreamer and I am proud of it. I’d like to dream till the end and pass it on to my son. I am a Dreamer and I invite you to dream with me. The toughest battles and the most wonderful victories have been achieved by people with, what others thought were, “impossible” dreams!
Are you a dreamer or a realist?
This is an original post written fro World Moms Network by MarieV in France.
Marie is from France and is living near Paris, after spending 6 years in Irlande. She is a single mum of one, sharing her time between work, family life and writing, her passion. She already wrote 6 books in her native langage.
She loves reading, photography, meeting friends and sharing life experiences. She blogs about domestic abuse, parenting and poetry @https://mahshiandmarshmallow.wordpress.com
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by Carol (Canada) | Dec 14, 2011 | Canada, Economy, Motherhood, Working Mother, World Motherhood
People talk a lot about maintaining a sense of personal identity as a mother.
The needs and demands of a tiny human being who has no patience, no forbearance, and no consideration for the feelings of others can be an overwhelming experience.
Many women, especially in places like Canada where we get a whole year of maternity leave from work, find it difficult to maintain their sense of who they are.
Yanked out of board meetings and into a gliding rocker, and dealing with dirty diapers where they once dealt with memos and spreadsheets, new mothers often find themselves thinking “WHAT HAVE I DONE?” (more…)
Carol from If By Yes has lived in four different Canadian provinces as well as the Caribbean. Now she lives in Vancouver, working a full time job at a vet clinic, training dogs on the side, and raising her son and daughter to be good citizens of the world.
Carol is known for wearing inside-out underwear, microwaving yoghurt, killing house plants, over-thinking the mundane, and pointing out grammatical errors in "Twilight". When not trying to wrestle her son down for a nap, Carol loves to read and write.
Carol can also be found on her blog, If By Yes, and on Twitter @IfByYesTweets
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