I Am Black: Translated
Ankhasanamen Sow
International Registered Nurse Humanitarian
Born: San Francisco, CA
Live: between Oakland, CA and Dakar, Senegal
Black. What is it to be Black? Ebony, mahogany, brownsugah, redbone, yellow, high yellow...all from the Black. This is the confusion, the dicotomy, the schizophrenic malady of American...blackness. Holding on to a mono-flat description when there is a rainbow of Black-ness.
Is it not more real, more sane to reach out and grab a hold of our origin? Is it not more sane to say African...African in thought, in culture, in heritage, in origin, in cause, in effect, in reality?
I want to be sane, I want to be real, I want to state and be acknowledged for who I am...African. And my reference point is how I am perceived in Africa, by Africans. If I say I am black to a Dinka, he might think I am crazy. If I say my great grand parents are from Africa, they say which part? In Nigeria, I get called oyinbo, in Haiti, African.
In Senegal, Fulani people approach me and greet me in Pular (I was once accused by a Fulani waiter of high siding with my American friends because I "pretended" not to understand him when he spoke to me in Pular).
I have also been looked at strangely by Ethiopians who ask if I am not Ethiopian, than surely my parents...no? Then my grandparents...?
To be called white in africa is to be called by how you might look...as a color. Not your heritage or ethnicity. I learned the difference somewhat like Malcolm did when he visited Ghana. He spoke about the atrocities of white people to a group of university students. Whe he finished, one of the students raised his hand and asked, "But sir, aren't you white?". After a flash of anger, Malcolm caught himself, and then laughed at the absurdity of it all. I have experienced the very same thing. Had to stop saying can't you see I'm Black? Because in reality, I am not. But I do have a color...and there are many colors of the Black Rainbow...mine is African.