"It's not cool to be African"

Happy New Year!

Guess who’s back?!

I know I’ve been pretty quiet the last few weeks. With Christmas, New Year, Mumming & Essay writing, I literally just couldn’t find a minute to even breathe.

Anyway, here I am and it feels so good to be writing again.

Christmas was nice. I spent it with the kids and a good friend of mine. Small, but it was lovely.

It’s funny because every year, I’m literally prepping for the day from September. It’s always a big deal and a stress, then the day comes and it’s over so quick. Just like that my favourite day in the whole year was over in the blink of an eye.

***

On New Year’s Day, I spent the day reflecting and planning for the future (in my head of course). It suddenly dawned on me that I would be turning 27 this year and surprisingly I didn’t have a melt down.

We all seem to have this phobia of growing old, or thinking we’re old when we actually aren’t.

I remember when I turned 22 and I was single. I felt so bloody old and felt that I should have been in a relationship looking to settle down.

I’m 26 now and feel the complete opposite!

I was having a conversation with my friend recently about the 90’s and how it was such a bomb era to grow up in. We were feeling all nostalgic and were reminiscing for a good 2 hours about our childhood, the programmes we would watch, music we would listen to and how it was growing up African.

Now my parents originate from Uganda, East Africa. So naturally, just for the simple fact that they are African - they are stubborn as hell and dramatic as hell.

I remember one time, my Mum went to beat my sister over something.*

*Side note: No children were harmed in the events described in this story. Beatings was just standard procedure within African households to “enforce disciple” Whether you agree or not, the two of us are just fine 😂

@socialservices no need to intervene, it was 20 years ago and we are grateful that we didn’t turn out too unruly 👀 well maybe a little bit. I’ll let you be the judge of that. Ha!

Anyway, back to the story. My sister was clearly feeling brave that day because instead of just taking the beating, she put her arm up to protect herself.

It was at that moment I knew, my sister had f*cked up. Mum completely lost it and screamed at her saying “So, you want to fight me?!” I saw a meme the other day that reminded me of that day and couldn’t stop laughing 👇🏾

Later on when our Uncle came around, she went on to tell him that my sister had fought her and pushed her in the corner 😂 Can you imagine?? This did NOT happen. Honestly, African parents will really lie on you for dramatic effect.

He then lost it too. Mayhem. Now at this point, I wanted to stick up for my sister, but if I opened my mouth I would have got beatings too, so I retreated to my room - discretely. *See Homer picture*

I wasn’t trying to catch a beating. My right to free speech just wasn’t to be exercised at that point in time.

Instead, I waited for my sister to come to our room and gave her a sympathetic rub on her arm.

Anyway, back to when my friend & I were reminiscing about the good old days, I suddenly remembered all the ridiculous lies I would tell.

One in particular that followed me up to the point of adulthood.

Now, during my time in Primary School, I attended from 1995-2002, as an African child. - this is relevant, it just was NOT cool to be African in the 90’s. I remember being the butt of the African jokes a lot or being asked endlessly if I ate “Fufu” or if I could speak “African” - I should point out at this stage, that “African” is not a language and there is an estimated 1500-2000 different languages spoken on the continent. So this was stupid.

Or if I would get asked if I was in a tribe, did voodoo or just all round ignorant, provocative questions. Oh, I also remember being told African food is disgusting because it has ‘tomatoes’ in it. Yeah, just like your beans on toast you were bragging about that you had for tea last night mate. - however I was never brave enough to say this.

One day, one of the little Jamaican boys (I say Jamaican, he was London born, but identified as Jamaican as did a lot of the kids in class) was going around the circle asking everyone where their parents were from.

I should point out that I went to Primary School in Thornton Heath, so at the time it was very culturally diverse.

A lot of the girls started sounding off wild mixed heritages like 1/28th Portuguese, 1/33rd Mexican and 1/69th aborigines.

Obviously not this extreme and I am very aware that most of us beings have very mixed heritages in our bloodlines, however at just 8 years old, I’m sure they hadn’t done the ‘what’s in your DNA?’ test.

So, my turn was fast approaching, my heart started to race. This was too awkward. It’s not that I hated being African, it just wasn’t COOL! I couldn’t bare the thought of being laughed at in front of everyone.

I was 2 kids away from being asked and I felt like the whole room could hear my heart beating in my chest. The boy asking would give such an evil cackle if I told him that I was fully African. I was the only one in class, so I felt singled out.

I start gearing myself up to tell him. I thought to myself “Whatever, I’ve got this, no biggie”

1 child away. Sh*t. I can vaguely hear Sean talking about how he’s related to the Queen. This would have been funny had I not been sat next to him.

“Just be brave” I told myself. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll laugh and bring it up and take the p*ss any opportunity he can. I can handle that! Right?!

My turn now.

Boy: *points towards me with a smirk*

Where’s your Mum from?

He knew full well that my Mum was African. Cheeky pr*ck.

Me: My Mum is Ugandan.

Boy: *cackles* “Eh-Eh” he said in a poor African accent to take the mick. What about your Dad?!

At this point I froze in thought. Just fess up Soph, he’ll soon move on.

Now little did I know, that what I was about to say, would carry on with me for the next few years.

Me: Jamaica

WHY?! Why oh why did I lie? I saw the smirk on his face disappear to a look of surprise.

My dad was hardly at the School and when he was it was never on time, so this lie could slide. My Dad would collect me every so often. However, again I must reiterate, he ran on Black time, so of course he never arrived on time.

School finished at 3.15, he would collect me at 4.15. I’d watch a lot of the office staff leave and befriend the cleaners. Ha.

So basically, no-one would ever see him.

On the flip side, I had fully just denied my entire existence.

Boy: Swear down?! I never knew that. If he’s from Jamaica, what part?

Now, it didn’t take long for me to come up with the answer. I only knew of one town in Jamaica as I had heard people talk about it before.

Me: *in a matter of fact tone* Kingston, durrrr.

Bit of reverse psychology there on my part. He fell for it. I played him.

Really I had played myself. But for the sake of not being taunted about it, I had lied.

Boy: You’re lucky you know. I was about to saaaaayyy

I felt a mix of relief & annoyance at this point but I had to play it cool.

Me: Bumbaclart.

So, yeah. From that moment on, I was half Jamaican. Lol.

I had been accepted by my Jamaican peers because of it. Jheeze.

Thing is, I absolutely loved being Ugandan. Growing up there was so much culture, good food, good vibes and just all round fun. I just didn’t like how cruel kids could be.

Looking back, I wish I had been able to stand up and proudly say that I was, but I chose the easier option.

I remember telling my cousins about it a few years back and a few of them had done exactly the same in order to fit in and not be outcasted.

Once I started high school in 2002, I carried that same mentality of trying to fit in and carried on the lie. Except what I soon realised was that most people didn’t care. My school was majority white and in my experience, a lot of my friends were unable to distinguish the difference between African and Jamaicans, because it wasn’t a thing to them. What was a thing, which took me years to realise, was there was a slight ignorance - not from all of them, but definitely a few. I put that down to them having not been around many black people. So in the beginning I would often get asked a lot of silly questions like:

“Can you go out in the sun?”

“Can you get a tan?”

“Can I touch your hair?”

“Is it true that you only eat Chicken?”

In saying that, because these were my peers who I was spending time with, it just became normal.

Most of my friends were white and I then faced a new struggle of fitting in. I had thicker thighs, bigger boobs and lips than a lot of my peers and I HATED it.

For years I would get called ‘coconut’ or ‘bounty’ - for those who don’t know, this meant I was black on the outside and white on the inside. I became like the people I was surrounded with.

It wasn’t until I went to College that I was fully able to be myself and accept who I was without the fear of being jeered at for being African.

I met a fellow Ugandan there who was super proud of where she came from and I found this so admirable.

We have stayed friends ever since and she is one of the people closest to me to this day!

In more recent years, it’s been acceptable to be African and even embraced openly. With things like Afrobeats, African culture and people being more open to embracing their heritage and discovering who they are, it’s become almost like popular culture.

There are people I know who couldn’t stand Africans growing up, who have now educated themselves and embrace all things African. I love it.

I’m so grateful that Faith (my daughter) hasn’t struggled with this. Naturally, being mixed race, when she was younger there was some confusion.

However, now she is a confident 10 year old who embraces both sides of her cultures and has NEVER denied her African heritage. In fact, she tells people so proudly and I admire that about her.

To this day, I believe there are still a few old school friends who are under the assumption that I am half Jamaican.

So, this is my confession. I was just a young, naive, London born, but East African girl trying to fit in.

I’ve seen the light now! Ha!

P.s: See my passport picture below taken shortly after the time I denied myself. Lol. Maybe the ugliness was my karma. I think its safe to say I have definitely blossomed.