THE TERM "AFRICAN AMERICAN"
- Thread starter EDJ
- Start date
If an African feels that there blood or culture is superior to African Americans then you can bet that they think that there culture is superior to other African tribes in his country because Africa does not have one SET culture. For example in Ghana we have the Ewes, Fantes, Asantes, Ga's, Dagomba, Yendi's, Tekoradi, Dwabens etc. And it is like that in other countries in Africa.
What you're saying is actually not new to me at all. What you're dealing with is not Africans in Africa feeling that African Americans are inferior to them what you're talking about is Africans that come to America having bad experiences with African Americans. What you're saying is just the vice-versa of these Africans that moved to America. For example and African exchange student that comes to America may have some bad experiences with SOME African Americans picking on him or her because he's African. He'll hear things like "African booty scratcher", "Do you eat lions?" etc. Out of human nature these Africans may get in defensive mode and may have bad thoughts about African Americans. I remember growing up and seeing this with myself and also the Haitian immigrants that enrolled into my elementary school.
So when these African immigrants have some kind of hatred towards African Americans, the good African Americans that want to befriend these immigrants get blown off. So naturally these African Americans think "Africans don't like us African Americans"
On other occasions it maybe the Africans that just come here and have bitter feelings towards African Americans because of something they heard. Theres a reason for all of this and I'm telling you it's mainly based on experiences here in America.
But one thing I can gurantee you is that Africans in Africa do not feel that there bloood is purer then the African Americans when they adore the white man and woman as much as they do. It's simply IMPOSSIBLE!! White in Africa still symbolizes success you don't know how many African men want to be with a white woman or how many African women that want to be with a white man. Self-hate like it is with black men and women here is even WORSE in Africa.
You remember the thread I posted a good year back about Africans wanting to bleach there skin?
I rest my case
I think you have a lot to learn about what is going on in Africa. If you were to be my guest to Ghana in 3 weeks you're whole idea of Africans will change. Why? Because you won't believe the amount of respect and love you'll get in the country.
What you're saying is actually not new to me at all. What you're dealing with is not Africans in Africa feeling that African Americans are inferior to them what you're talking about is Africans that come to America having bad experiences with African Americans. What you're saying is just the vice-versa of these Africans that moved to America. For example and African exchange student that comes to America may have some bad experiences with SOME African Americans picking on him or her because he's African. He'll hear things like "African booty scratcher", "Do you eat lions?" etc. Out of human nature these Africans may get in defensive mode and may have bad thoughts about African Americans. I remember growing up and seeing this with myself and also the Haitian immigrants that enrolled into my elementary school.
So when these African immigrants have some kind of hatred towards African Americans, the good African Americans that want to befriend these immigrants get blown off. So naturally these African Americans think "Africans don't like us African Americans"
On other occasions it maybe the Africans that just come here and have bitter feelings towards African Americans because of something they heard. Theres a reason for all of this and I'm telling you it's mainly based on experiences here in America.
But one thing I can gurantee you is that Africans in Africa do not feel that there bloood is purer then the African Americans when they adore the white man and woman as much as they do. It's simply IMPOSSIBLE!! White in Africa still symbolizes success you don't know how many African men want to be with a white woman or how many African women that want to be with a white man. Self-hate like it is with black men and women here is even WORSE in Africa.
You remember the thread I posted a good year back about Africans wanting to bleach there skin?
I rest my case
I think you have a lot to learn about what is going on in Africa. If you were to be my guest to Ghana in 3 weeks you're whole idea of Africans will change. Why? Because you won't believe the amount of respect and love you'll get in the country.
Back to Africa
By Mwatabu S. Okantah
I understand, now, why Langston Hughes titled one of his autobiographies, " I Wonder As I Wander." The wondering and the wandering began in my life at about the same time I discovered my affinity for the work of Hughes, and several other black writers: Zora Neale Hurston, Aime Cesaire, Gwendolyn Brooks, Leon Damas, Lance Jeffers and Toni Morrison. I did not realize then that this wondering and wandering that began in some distant place in my mind would lead me to my own cultural heritage in West Africa. I did not realize then that there was relief to be found waiting inside the culture, that there was peace to still the tension; self-knowledge to embrace the alienation.
I only knew that I hurt inside my sense of my own emptiness. I could not describe it. Yet, I knew the prison of being ashamed of my blackness. I knew the shackles of being ignorant of the very things that gave black life meaning. Fifty years removed from Hughes and the rest of the so-called "New Negroes," the more things have changed, the more they have remained the same. My first trip to West Africa, in March, 1988, with a group sponsored by the Rotary Club, had served to confirm the ideas I embraced at the beginning of my own journey toward self-awareness. Our history begins before the black experience in the so-called "New World." Yet, I, too, could not avoid the inner turmoil of being an "Afro-American Fragment." I knew the white-blind of not knowing who I was; of having only a vague sense of my own identity.
In 1903, W. E. B. DuBois wrote that "the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world; a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world." Our history is a living, evolving thing. We must ask ourselves, "What seeds did our ancient African ancestors sow such that we reaped our descent into captivity and this harvest of American days?" Our history has pushed itself forward through the rise and fall of empires; through the holocaust of enslavement and forced exile; through names and faces we will never know, save in dreams and imagination.
The questions remain the same. Too many black people in America are still fragmented inside this same pain. I remember those days. Meeting my first "African-from-Africa-African," while I was a student at Kent State, literally shocked me into the mirror, staring into my own face, wondering, "If he is an African, what does that make me?" Africa. I only knew Tarzan, National Geographic, Shirley Temple, Buckwheat and Stymie, blaxploitation films, J. J., and the rest. The nagging question of identity drove me in search of Africa inside myself. Who was I? Who was this people? Just how had we come to be?
I arrived in Lagos, Nigeria, on December 31, 1989, armed with my faith and the force of my own destiny unfolding. I also had graphic instructions from Nigerians I knew living in the States, two letters of introduction to deliver to strangers I would have to locate, and a recommendation for a "good' local hotel. I would begin 1990 in Africa. Even then I felt the need to begin preparing for the 20th century's end. I was in Africa again. I felt my adrenaline flow. I felt that intense excitement, that controlled fear I used to experience during my days as an aspiring wide receiver at Kent State; days that seemed so distant now. I was acutely aware of all the activity swirling around me. I was standing next to Kehinde Odubiyi, a Nigerian student returning home from Seattle. We had met standing in a line of Africans speaking mostly in French , at the Air Afrique terminal in New York; that we had English in common calmed my nerves as I thought about the chaos I knew I would encounter at Murtala Muhammad International Airport.
Africa. Almost immediately, you notice the faces. Looking back, it is utterly amazing that as a people we approach a new millenium with no real clue as to our proper name. Some of us are still Negroes. Are we just blacks? Are we just Americans? African-Americans? What? Or, is the real question, who? When you arrive in West Africa, you realize the sheer folly of the debate. You see it in the faces. Kehinde and I passed through customs without problems. Standing, waiting for our bags, another Nigerian traveler asked me if I could recognize any of the people as my people? I responded, "They are all my people." Kehinde smiled, and then guided me through the rush of boys who wanted to carry the bag of the dreadlocked "Black American." Kehinde negotiated a taxi and a "black market" money exchange. For safety reasons, he convinced me to stay at the Lagos Sheraton for at least my first night in the city, and he saw to it that I arrived in one piece.
On the morning of my first full day in Lagos, I was up early for breakfast, made arrangements to hire a car and driver, and returned to my room to gather my thoughts as well as my things. When I came back downstairs, I heard the sound of drums and a flute coming from the hotel lobby. I remembered it was New Year's Day. Instinctively, I moved toward the music. I saw my driver and motioned for him to wait. The musicians were warming up. They were the African Heritage Dance Troupe. They would be performing in the hotel throughout the day. I made eye contact with the flute player. During a break, he introduced himself as Umobit Christopher and we began to talk. I told him I knew no one in Lagos, and that I possessed two letters of introduction from a Nigerian friend in Cleveland who also managed an African dance troupe. Umobit rather matter-of-factly asked the name of my Nigerian friend. When I said Emanuel Ayeni, his face went blank. He knew Ayeni. They had worked together before Ayeni rather abruptly left for the States. He described Ayeni and named members of his troupe. I was stunned. Even before delivering my letters, a sign. I had met someone who knew Ayeni in the lobby of a hotel where I was not supposed to be staying.
Lagos. They call it the New York City of West Africa. People everywhere. Streetwise reality African-style; a cacophony of tropical sounds. People sitting on stoops, porches, balconies and outside hallways. Children playing in alleys, in courtyards. Vendors lined along both sides of the streets. Vendors hawking their goods at intersections everywhere. Traffic. In Lagos, they call it, "go slow." Taxis. Rickety cars. Luxury cars. Riding local buses, people asked if my hair was real. They wanted to touch my locks. Walking the streets of Suru Lere, I saw an angry crowd capture and beat a would-be thief, or, as they called him, "Tief Tief." Ikeja. Palm Groove. Lagos Island. I was fixated on the faces. It was all so strangely familiar. It was comforting. Black people are black people everywhere on this earth. Sowande was right. Indeed, the world is a village.
I traveled Nigeria from west to east and into the south; from Ibadan to Badagry to Enugu to Port Harcourt. Nigeria is the ultimate human laboratory for our urgent endeavor to reclaim and redevelop Africa. The diversity of peoples, alone, challenges the imagination; that these groups had their new "nationhood" imposed upon them by the British lingers in a still volatile Nigerian peoplescape. Master sculptor Bissi Fakeye, who traveled with me to Ibadan, spoke passionately of the difficulties in becoming a nation you have not named yourself. Afrobeat King Fela Anikulapo Kuti was right. Everything IS upside down. In a perverse sort of way, it was somewhat comforting to know that geography has little to do with our identity confusion as an Africans and peoples of African descent. The twin legacies of slavery in the in the Diaspora, and colonialism in Africa have left psychological and cultural scars.
When, for example, Umobit and I were received by the man known as "The Black President," Umobit introduced himself as Christopher and me as his "friend Okantah from States." Fela, serenely wrapped in his trademark towel, moved to the edge of his seat. The room was quiet, all activity having ceased when he entered the living room. His house was open. People came and went seemingly at will. He looked directly at us, a slightly amused expression masking his face. Shifting his gaze from me to Umobit, he said to no one in particular, "Dis man come from America. Him have African name. Dis man come from Nigeria. But him have American name. Now, what do you think of dat?" Names. The world is upside down. Whether we are talking about individuals, ethnic groups or nations, any people ignorant of their origins, who do not know their names, can only be a lost and wandering people.
The exchange with Fela served to crystallize the fact that black people were deprived of names in Africa and throughout the Diaspora precisely because names are fundamentally important to any group's resistance to domination. I think there is a direct correlation between African underdevelopment, European colonial and post-colonial oppression, and the changing of indigenous names. Too often, the cultural devastation wrought by colonialism in Africa is ignored or not taken seriously enough; the impact of the tyranny of speaking in received languages is minimized. Nigeria is a name coined by the wife of the first British governor. In so many ways, the imposition of European derived names may be more damaging, ultimately, than imposed colonial borders. More than anything, speaking in the various European languages has imprisoned us inside alien ideas.
By Mwatabu S. Okantah
I understand, now, why Langston Hughes titled one of his autobiographies, " I Wonder As I Wander." The wondering and the wandering began in my life at about the same time I discovered my affinity for the work of Hughes, and several other black writers: Zora Neale Hurston, Aime Cesaire, Gwendolyn Brooks, Leon Damas, Lance Jeffers and Toni Morrison. I did not realize then that this wondering and wandering that began in some distant place in my mind would lead me to my own cultural heritage in West Africa. I did not realize then that there was relief to be found waiting inside the culture, that there was peace to still the tension; self-knowledge to embrace the alienation.
I only knew that I hurt inside my sense of my own emptiness. I could not describe it. Yet, I knew the prison of being ashamed of my blackness. I knew the shackles of being ignorant of the very things that gave black life meaning. Fifty years removed from Hughes and the rest of the so-called "New Negroes," the more things have changed, the more they have remained the same. My first trip to West Africa, in March, 1988, with a group sponsored by the Rotary Club, had served to confirm the ideas I embraced at the beginning of my own journey toward self-awareness. Our history begins before the black experience in the so-called "New World." Yet, I, too, could not avoid the inner turmoil of being an "Afro-American Fragment." I knew the white-blind of not knowing who I was; of having only a vague sense of my own identity.
In 1903, W. E. B. DuBois wrote that "the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world; a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world." Our history is a living, evolving thing. We must ask ourselves, "What seeds did our ancient African ancestors sow such that we reaped our descent into captivity and this harvest of American days?" Our history has pushed itself forward through the rise and fall of empires; through the holocaust of enslavement and forced exile; through names and faces we will never know, save in dreams and imagination.
The questions remain the same. Too many black people in America are still fragmented inside this same pain. I remember those days. Meeting my first "African-from-Africa-African," while I was a student at Kent State, literally shocked me into the mirror, staring into my own face, wondering, "If he is an African, what does that make me?" Africa. I only knew Tarzan, National Geographic, Shirley Temple, Buckwheat and Stymie, blaxploitation films, J. J., and the rest. The nagging question of identity drove me in search of Africa inside myself. Who was I? Who was this people? Just how had we come to be?
I arrived in Lagos, Nigeria, on December 31, 1989, armed with my faith and the force of my own destiny unfolding. I also had graphic instructions from Nigerians I knew living in the States, two letters of introduction to deliver to strangers I would have to locate, and a recommendation for a "good' local hotel. I would begin 1990 in Africa. Even then I felt the need to begin preparing for the 20th century's end. I was in Africa again. I felt my adrenaline flow. I felt that intense excitement, that controlled fear I used to experience during my days as an aspiring wide receiver at Kent State; days that seemed so distant now. I was acutely aware of all the activity swirling around me. I was standing next to Kehinde Odubiyi, a Nigerian student returning home from Seattle. We had met standing in a line of Africans speaking mostly in French , at the Air Afrique terminal in New York; that we had English in common calmed my nerves as I thought about the chaos I knew I would encounter at Murtala Muhammad International Airport.
Africa. Almost immediately, you notice the faces. Looking back, it is utterly amazing that as a people we approach a new millenium with no real clue as to our proper name. Some of us are still Negroes. Are we just blacks? Are we just Americans? African-Americans? What? Or, is the real question, who? When you arrive in West Africa, you realize the sheer folly of the debate. You see it in the faces. Kehinde and I passed through customs without problems. Standing, waiting for our bags, another Nigerian traveler asked me if I could recognize any of the people as my people? I responded, "They are all my people." Kehinde smiled, and then guided me through the rush of boys who wanted to carry the bag of the dreadlocked "Black American." Kehinde negotiated a taxi and a "black market" money exchange. For safety reasons, he convinced me to stay at the Lagos Sheraton for at least my first night in the city, and he saw to it that I arrived in one piece.
On the morning of my first full day in Lagos, I was up early for breakfast, made arrangements to hire a car and driver, and returned to my room to gather my thoughts as well as my things. When I came back downstairs, I heard the sound of drums and a flute coming from the hotel lobby. I remembered it was New Year's Day. Instinctively, I moved toward the music. I saw my driver and motioned for him to wait. The musicians were warming up. They were the African Heritage Dance Troupe. They would be performing in the hotel throughout the day. I made eye contact with the flute player. During a break, he introduced himself as Umobit Christopher and we began to talk. I told him I knew no one in Lagos, and that I possessed two letters of introduction from a Nigerian friend in Cleveland who also managed an African dance troupe. Umobit rather matter-of-factly asked the name of my Nigerian friend. When I said Emanuel Ayeni, his face went blank. He knew Ayeni. They had worked together before Ayeni rather abruptly left for the States. He described Ayeni and named members of his troupe. I was stunned. Even before delivering my letters, a sign. I had met someone who knew Ayeni in the lobby of a hotel where I was not supposed to be staying.
Lagos. They call it the New York City of West Africa. People everywhere. Streetwise reality African-style; a cacophony of tropical sounds. People sitting on stoops, porches, balconies and outside hallways. Children playing in alleys, in courtyards. Vendors lined along both sides of the streets. Vendors hawking their goods at intersections everywhere. Traffic. In Lagos, they call it, "go slow." Taxis. Rickety cars. Luxury cars. Riding local buses, people asked if my hair was real. They wanted to touch my locks. Walking the streets of Suru Lere, I saw an angry crowd capture and beat a would-be thief, or, as they called him, "Tief Tief." Ikeja. Palm Groove. Lagos Island. I was fixated on the faces. It was all so strangely familiar. It was comforting. Black people are black people everywhere on this earth. Sowande was right. Indeed, the world is a village.
I traveled Nigeria from west to east and into the south; from Ibadan to Badagry to Enugu to Port Harcourt. Nigeria is the ultimate human laboratory for our urgent endeavor to reclaim and redevelop Africa. The diversity of peoples, alone, challenges the imagination; that these groups had their new "nationhood" imposed upon them by the British lingers in a still volatile Nigerian peoplescape. Master sculptor Bissi Fakeye, who traveled with me to Ibadan, spoke passionately of the difficulties in becoming a nation you have not named yourself. Afrobeat King Fela Anikulapo Kuti was right. Everything IS upside down. In a perverse sort of way, it was somewhat comforting to know that geography has little to do with our identity confusion as an Africans and peoples of African descent. The twin legacies of slavery in the in the Diaspora, and colonialism in Africa have left psychological and cultural scars.
When, for example, Umobit and I were received by the man known as "The Black President," Umobit introduced himself as Christopher and me as his "friend Okantah from States." Fela, serenely wrapped in his trademark towel, moved to the edge of his seat. The room was quiet, all activity having ceased when he entered the living room. His house was open. People came and went seemingly at will. He looked directly at us, a slightly amused expression masking his face. Shifting his gaze from me to Umobit, he said to no one in particular, "Dis man come from America. Him have African name. Dis man come from Nigeria. But him have American name. Now, what do you think of dat?" Names. The world is upside down. Whether we are talking about individuals, ethnic groups or nations, any people ignorant of their origins, who do not know their names, can only be a lost and wandering people.
The exchange with Fela served to crystallize the fact that black people were deprived of names in Africa and throughout the Diaspora precisely because names are fundamentally important to any group's resistance to domination. I think there is a direct correlation between African underdevelopment, European colonial and post-colonial oppression, and the changing of indigenous names. Too often, the cultural devastation wrought by colonialism in Africa is ignored or not taken seriously enough; the impact of the tyranny of speaking in received languages is minimized. Nigeria is a name coined by the wife of the first British governor. In so many ways, the imposition of European derived names may be more damaging, ultimately, than imposed colonial borders. More than anything, speaking in the various European languages has imprisoned us inside alien ideas.
Alien ideas. As an African-American, I knew about alien ideas. It had not been my desire or my intention, but, I found myself becoming an unofficial ambassador for the African-American people. Everywhere I traveled in Nigeria, people wanted to know more about our experience living in the USA. It was hard dispelling the notion that all African-Americans are rich; although in relative terms, it became readily apparent that as Americans of African descent, we are privileged. We have access to resources that are simply unknown to peoples of African descent living in other parts of the world. Yet, it was also evident that our people are experiencing the same struggle no matter where we are situated. Contrary to popular myth, in Nigeria I found that Africans in Africa are concerned about their scattered cousins living outside the continent. I was continually asked to tell my people on the "other side" to come "home." I left Nigeria secure in my own sense of myself as an African.
I arrived in Accra, Ghana, looking forward to seeing Dr. Nii Ayi Ankrah, who had received his PHD from Cleveland State while I was teaching there. He had become a senior researcher at the Noguchi Institute on the campus of the University of Ghana at Legon. I was in the land of Cape Coast and Elmina Castles; land of our kidnapped black past. I was in the storied land of Ashanti and Queen Mother Yaa Asantewa. The mythical land of Kwame Nkrumah. The mystical land where Dr. DuBois fittingly laid his "double consciousness" to rest. He had resolved his warring two souls into one by returning to Africa at Nkrumah's historic invitation in 1961. The man who challenged Booker T. Washington, and who had worked unwittingly to undermine Marcus Garvey, returned to Africa rather than tolerate and succumb to a hypocritically white supremacist United States of America.
I have not yet found the words to adequately convey my feelings as I stood before the enshrined remains of Shirley and W. E. B. DuBois. Their residence has been turned into the DuBois Center for Pan-African Culture. It stands as a living reminder of this African-American giant's impact on the African world. The spirits of DuBois and Nkrumah permeate the atmosphere as you walk through the house and about the grounds. A bust of Dubois stands guardian in front of the house, eyes looking straight ahead into brighter days. As I stood inside the former receiving cottage that now serves as the Dubois' tomb, I realized that Africa truly exists at the center of even our American days. I knew that coming to Africa is the ultimate pilgrimage for any American of African descent. I have no illusions about black people in America returning to Africa in large numbers. However, Africa is, and remains, the continent of our ethnic origins. It continues to define our uniqueness as Americans. Its fate holds the key to our survival as distinct African derived peoples no matter where we find ourselves domiciled on the earth.
I stood there, realizing that I was standing in what is essentially a sacred, ritual space. I thought about the significance of Molefi Asante's call for us to designate our own High Holy days; to acknowledge our own holy places. The poet in me soared. The words I could not find had become wings. I could feel my Self take flight. I felt renewed. I felt a deeper sense of my Self that had been unknown to me before my first sojourn to West Africa. Now, I was in Africa once again, only to have this same feeling return with an even greater intensity. I could feel my Self glow. After nine days in Ghana, I left Accra bound for Dakar, Senegal.
My brief stay in Ghana had also exposed me to the differences in color and landscape between West African countries. Nigeria does not look like, nor does it have the same feeling as Ghana. I was struck most by the fact that all Africans do not look alike. The people in Senegal were even more strikingly different in their features, stature and styles of dress. In both Nigeria and Ghana, people would consistently tell me I looked Fulani. After my arrival in Senegal, my hosts took me to visit a Fulani compound in Dakar and I was stunned to come face to face with faces that were mirror images of my own. It was wonderful to see myself in these tall, slender black people. Yes, in Senegal, I would be told that I was "light skinned like the Fulani."
I ended my tour of West Africa with a visit to the House of Slaves on Goree Island, off the coast of Dakar. In both Nigeria and Ghana, I also visited sites where Africans were held before being shipped into New World slavery. I saw and touched shackles, chains and the tomb of an African slave trader in Nigeria's Badagry. In Ghana, I was sickened by the stench that still lingers in the dungeons at Elmina and Cape Coast Castles. I will never forget the sight of the vultures that still circle in the air. At Cape Coast, the male dungeons are situated beneath the Anglican church. It was more than ironic that European churches were always in evidence at these sites where African people were doomed to experience what remains the unspeakable African holocaust of enslavement. So, it was with trepidation that I boarded the ferry for the short boat ride to Goree.
The real meaning of my African-Americanness overwhelmed me when I stood in the House of Slaves looking out at the ocean through that infamous "Door of No Return." My experiences in Nigeria and Ghana had drained me of my tears and my anger. As I stood in that open doorway, I felt the deep pain of the African holocaust. Yet, I also experienced, for the first time, a new feeling; a feeling that caught me somewhat by surprise. Standing in that doorway, looking out over the jagged edged rocks along the coastline, I felt a serenity, a feeling that my soul could now find peace in the knowledge of what African people have survived. There was joy knowing that as Americans of African descent, we are descended from the one in ten who survived the Middle Passage. There was joy knowing I could finally lay my personal burden down.
I stood in that doorway, in meditation, freed from all the bitterness, knowing that we descendents of once-enslaved Africans can now make our way back to ancestral lands we can call home. There is no one to stop us from passing back through what is no longer a "Door of No Return." There is no thing, save our own fears and ignorance, standing between us and true self-knowledge. I stood in that doorway, comforted in the knowledge that although they have taken us out of Africa, they could not take Africa out of us. Africa is in us. We only need find it. Yes, I stood in that doorway looking forward to my return to the States because we have new stories to tell.
I arrived in Accra, Ghana, looking forward to seeing Dr. Nii Ayi Ankrah, who had received his PHD from Cleveland State while I was teaching there. He had become a senior researcher at the Noguchi Institute on the campus of the University of Ghana at Legon. I was in the land of Cape Coast and Elmina Castles; land of our kidnapped black past. I was in the storied land of Ashanti and Queen Mother Yaa Asantewa. The mythical land of Kwame Nkrumah. The mystical land where Dr. DuBois fittingly laid his "double consciousness" to rest. He had resolved his warring two souls into one by returning to Africa at Nkrumah's historic invitation in 1961. The man who challenged Booker T. Washington, and who had worked unwittingly to undermine Marcus Garvey, returned to Africa rather than tolerate and succumb to a hypocritically white supremacist United States of America.
I have not yet found the words to adequately convey my feelings as I stood before the enshrined remains of Shirley and W. E. B. DuBois. Their residence has been turned into the DuBois Center for Pan-African Culture. It stands as a living reminder of this African-American giant's impact on the African world. The spirits of DuBois and Nkrumah permeate the atmosphere as you walk through the house and about the grounds. A bust of Dubois stands guardian in front of the house, eyes looking straight ahead into brighter days. As I stood inside the former receiving cottage that now serves as the Dubois' tomb, I realized that Africa truly exists at the center of even our American days. I knew that coming to Africa is the ultimate pilgrimage for any American of African descent. I have no illusions about black people in America returning to Africa in large numbers. However, Africa is, and remains, the continent of our ethnic origins. It continues to define our uniqueness as Americans. Its fate holds the key to our survival as distinct African derived peoples no matter where we find ourselves domiciled on the earth.
I stood there, realizing that I was standing in what is essentially a sacred, ritual space. I thought about the significance of Molefi Asante's call for us to designate our own High Holy days; to acknowledge our own holy places. The poet in me soared. The words I could not find had become wings. I could feel my Self take flight. I felt renewed. I felt a deeper sense of my Self that had been unknown to me before my first sojourn to West Africa. Now, I was in Africa once again, only to have this same feeling return with an even greater intensity. I could feel my Self glow. After nine days in Ghana, I left Accra bound for Dakar, Senegal.
My brief stay in Ghana had also exposed me to the differences in color and landscape between West African countries. Nigeria does not look like, nor does it have the same feeling as Ghana. I was struck most by the fact that all Africans do not look alike. The people in Senegal were even more strikingly different in their features, stature and styles of dress. In both Nigeria and Ghana, people would consistently tell me I looked Fulani. After my arrival in Senegal, my hosts took me to visit a Fulani compound in Dakar and I was stunned to come face to face with faces that were mirror images of my own. It was wonderful to see myself in these tall, slender black people. Yes, in Senegal, I would be told that I was "light skinned like the Fulani."
I ended my tour of West Africa with a visit to the House of Slaves on Goree Island, off the coast of Dakar. In both Nigeria and Ghana, I also visited sites where Africans were held before being shipped into New World slavery. I saw and touched shackles, chains and the tomb of an African slave trader in Nigeria's Badagry. In Ghana, I was sickened by the stench that still lingers in the dungeons at Elmina and Cape Coast Castles. I will never forget the sight of the vultures that still circle in the air. At Cape Coast, the male dungeons are situated beneath the Anglican church. It was more than ironic that European churches were always in evidence at these sites where African people were doomed to experience what remains the unspeakable African holocaust of enslavement. So, it was with trepidation that I boarded the ferry for the short boat ride to Goree.
The real meaning of my African-Americanness overwhelmed me when I stood in the House of Slaves looking out at the ocean through that infamous "Door of No Return." My experiences in Nigeria and Ghana had drained me of my tears and my anger. As I stood in that open doorway, I felt the deep pain of the African holocaust. Yet, I also experienced, for the first time, a new feeling; a feeling that caught me somewhat by surprise. Standing in that doorway, looking out over the jagged edged rocks along the coastline, I felt a serenity, a feeling that my soul could now find peace in the knowledge of what African people have survived. There was joy knowing that as Americans of African descent, we are descended from the one in ten who survived the Middle Passage. There was joy knowing I could finally lay my personal burden down.
I stood in that doorway, in meditation, freed from all the bitterness, knowing that we descendents of once-enslaved Africans can now make our way back to ancestral lands we can call home. There is no one to stop us from passing back through what is no longer a "Door of No Return." There is no thing, save our own fears and ignorance, standing between us and true self-knowledge. I stood in that doorway, comforted in the knowledge that although they have taken us out of Africa, they could not take Africa out of us. Africa is in us. We only need find it. Yes, I stood in that doorway looking forward to my return to the States because we have new stories to tell.
There are plenty of stories like that I could post. However I would be lying to you if I was to say ALL Africans like Black Americans. Because not all do, it's impossible for everyone of one group to like everyone of another group but theres a very good population of Ghanaians that will embrace African Americans.
It's no secret at all African Americans are the most successful African descendants in this world. African Americans have set the standard of coolness in this world. Whether it's a politician, musician, dancer, comedian, business man HECK EVEN PASTORS African Americans have set the bar high. No matter where you go you got people of different countries emulating African American culture. You go to Japan and they got there own hip-hop culture. That is no different in Ghana, you ought to take a look at the young generation. They love rap music and they love hip hop style of clothing. You'll see them rocking the wave caps, head bands, jerseys, shoes etc. If a Ghanaian teenager was to see an African American of his age walking around Ghana they would go up to that person and greet him like he knows them or something.
You ought to go to a Ghanaian church the similarities between those churches and some black churches are striking. Attending a service in Ghana you could've sworn that you were at a service deep down in Mississippi with the pastor sweating like he ran a marathon the people clapping, stomping, passing out etc. Maybe Ghanaians are just naturally passionate like that? That just could be a trait we share that crossed over the Trans-Atlantic. I dunno
It's no secret at all African Americans are the most successful African descendants in this world. African Americans have set the standard of coolness in this world. Whether it's a politician, musician, dancer, comedian, business man HECK EVEN PASTORS African Americans have set the bar high. No matter where you go you got people of different countries emulating African American culture. You go to Japan and they got there own hip-hop culture. That is no different in Ghana, you ought to take a look at the young generation. They love rap music and they love hip hop style of clothing. You'll see them rocking the wave caps, head bands, jerseys, shoes etc. If a Ghanaian teenager was to see an African American of his age walking around Ghana they would go up to that person and greet him like he knows them or something.
You ought to go to a Ghanaian church the similarities between those churches and some black churches are striking. Attending a service in Ghana you could've sworn that you were at a service deep down in Mississippi with the pastor sweating like he ran a marathon the people clapping, stomping, passing out etc. Maybe Ghanaians are just naturally passionate like that? That just could be a trait we share that crossed over the Trans-Atlantic. I dunno
Well a lot did to be honest some are the Yoruba, Asante, Igbo and many more. However a lot of tribes that participated in the slave trade no longer exist anymore. They were simply taken over by another tribe.
A lot of the slave trade was a great deal of manipulation on the European parts and greed on some of these African tribes part. The Europeans did a great job of pinning tribes against each other. And some of these Africans were greedy filthy pigs
A lot of the slave trade was a great deal of manipulation on the European parts and greed on some of these African tribes part. The Europeans did a great job of pinning tribes against each other. And some of these Africans were greedy filthy pigs
Coming Home To Africa
African-Americans are resettling in ancestral lands, embracing a heritage and looking to the continent's potential as a way to fulfill dreams.
By Ann M. Simmons,
LATimes Staff Writer
DAR ES SALAAM, Tanzania - Two years ago, David Robinson caved in and bought a television set. A telephone followed shortly after. But Robinson still lives in a backwater where solar electricity is the norm, public transport is limited and cell phones don't work. Walking, sometimes for up to three hours, is often the only way to get a message to someone.
The son of baseball legend Jackie Robinson regards the sacrifice of a few modern conveniences as worthwhile. His dream, ever since setting foot in Africa as a tourist in 1967, was to settle down, connect with his cultural heritage and help develop the continent's economic potential.
In 1986, Robinson put down roots in Tanzania. He says he has never looked back. "It has exceeded any expectations that I had," said Robinson, 50. "One could never know the opportunities, the beauty, the pleasure of living here until one does live here."
Robinson is just one among a stream of African-Americans who have come to Africa to exercise what many consider an ancestral right: To make the continent their permanent home. Many are attracted by the ideal of solidarity and the prospect of being part of the racial majority. Others seek business opportunities that will both contribute to Africa's development and lead to personal gain. Still others want their children to appreciate their cultural heritage and to grow up in communities where their role models are people of color. Some come to retire.
Some newcomers have African spouses who can help ease them into their new environment. Many have both the education and money - along with the patience - to make their dreams of a new life on a new continent come true. In the process, these Americans believe they can help shape Africa's future. "Logically, the African-American tribes outside of Africa have something to offer and can play a role in Africa's global development," said Robinson, a onetime fisherman and exporter of African art who has been a coffee farmer for the last decade.
There are no concrete statistics on the number of African-Americans who have decided to settle in Africa. U.S. embassies do not register Americans living in individual countries by race. However, Tanzania, Ghana, Senegal, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Ethiopia and South Africa are among the countries that have welcomed African-Americans.
Estimates by those who count themselves among this new breed of settler range from as few as 15 permanent African-American residents in Tanzania to more than 1,000 in South Africa. For many, the transition has had bumps. In many African countries, communications and roads are poor. Public services are often unreliable. Tardiness and other annoying work habits frustrate many newcomers.
Such challenges did not deter the Connecticut-born Robinson. For him, moving to Tanzania felt natural. He was inspired, he said, by the example of his father, who broke major league baseball's color barrier in 1947. "When you are faced with the negatives of racism, to be supported by the personal courage and success of one's parent is a tremendous barrier against the negative attitudes of society," Robinson said.
Robinson, who married a Tanzanian woman after he arrived in Africa and is father of nine children, owns a 120-acre farm in the northern mountains, about 550 miles from Dar es Salaam, the capital. Called "Sweet Unity Farms," it is part of a 350-farm cooperative, of which Robinson is director of marketing and finance.
To buy his land, Robinson had to state his case to regional officials and village committees. In the end, he played the race card - in keeping with the views of Tanzania's revered founding father, Julius K. Nyerere, who preached unity and welcomed Blacks born outside Africa. "My ultimate presentation was that I was a Black person who had lost my nationalistic and tribal ties (to Africa) and I wanted to come back," recalled Robinson, who now speaks fluent Kiswahili, Tanzania's official language.
He was offered as much land as he could clear and use. A novice, Robinson relied heavily on his neighbors to learn farming. Today, he exports coffee beans to the United States. Tanzanian coffee is considered to be among the best in the world, and the beans fetch a premium price.
Robinson maintains that such success would have been harder to achieve in the United States. "I still believe the psychological barriers and calluses and bruises that we sustained throughout our American experience continues to block us from taking advantage of the opportunities that we can have," said Robinson, who retains a U.S. passport but expects to become a Tanzanian citizen. "We are not the normal American immigrant but the descendants of slaves. We have to recognize that."
It was business as well as the prospect of helping to develop a country governed by Black people that led Victoria Cooper in 1993 to the West African country of Ghana, across the continent from Robinson. "Growing up as an American, I would be doing a disservice if I came to Ghana and didn't share my talents and experiences gained in America with Ghanaians," said Cooper, 46, a St. Louis native.
A former partner in the accounting firm PricewaterhouseCoopers, she left in July 2001 to launch a consulting firm that advises governments on public sector reform and provides foreign investor services in West Africa. Cooper says that Ghana has untold potential. "The current administration has a focus on business, and one can feel the commitment," said Cooper, who is also president of the American Chamber of Commerce, Ghana. "Although they have an uphill battle, they recognize what that battle is."
The African-American Assn. in Ghana has about 50 dues-paying members, but many others regularly come to meetings, said Cooper, who presides over the group. During the last two years, several dozen African-Americans have arrived - some to pursue business, others to retire, she said.
Since becoming the first African colony to gain independence from Britain in 1957, Ghana has held a special appeal to African-Americans. U.S.-educated Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana's first president, was a proponent of repatriation to Africa. Hundreds heeded his call, and in the 1960s the nascent democracy became a popular destination for African-American activists, academics and professionals, including scholar W.E.B. DuBois and writer Maya Angelou.
The trend waned after Nkrumah was ousted in 1966, but it regained momentum while Jerry J. Rawlings, a former Ghanaian flight lieutenant, was in power. At a rally in Harlem in 1995, Rawlings announced plans to offer automatic Ghanaian citizenship to African-Americans. He urged them to invest their savings in Africa's future.
The offer of citizenship has since been modified to the right of abode, and legal details are still being ironed out, much to the frustration of some African-Americans. "Just taking him at his word, they packed up and came over expecting to get work permits," Cooper recalled. "It was easier said than done. Many have been disappointed that it has not happened sooner. But they are not totally discouraged."
In a way, Michael Giles was pursuing the American dream when he moved to South Africa in 1993. Giles said that despite having degrees from Harvard and Columbia Law School, he felt that obstacles including institutionalized racism would prevent him from reaching his full professional potential. "I thought I really can't take the risk of spending the years when you have the energy and the drive to do something exciting, squandering it in a place that is not going to be receptive," said Giles, 43, who is from Newark, NJ. "The tragedy is, race has blemished the opportunity for African-Americans to achieve the American dream."
Giles, who met his South African wife, Bernadette, at Harvard, gave up a career in corporate law to launch a chain of laundromats in South Africa. They later started a tourism company, Heritage Africa, in Johannesburg. "This place represents an opportunity," Giles said. "To be here now and involved in tourism is like being at the epicenter of what's going to be the future of South Africa - jobs, economic opportunities for Black people, growth of the economy."
Hundreds of African-Americans flocked to South Africa after Nelson Mandela led the country's first Black-majority government into power in 1994. Although the stream has slowed in recent years, South Africa still is considered the main hub of African-American resettlement. "It can lead the way for the rest of Africa," said Gayla Cook-Mohajane, 52, director of the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies, a Johannesburg-based American think-tank. She has lived in South Africa for 12 years. "For people looking for a place with energy, this is it. It is a very international place, a crossroads of culture."
South Africa may be especially attractive to African-Americans because of the problems elsewhere on the continent: political upheaval, dictatorship, rough living conditions, and language barriers. "South Africa, ironically, became the 'Great White Hope' of the Black diaspora," John Matshikiza, a respected South African columnist and university research fellow, wrote recently in the weekly Mail & Guardian newspaper.
African-Americans are resettling in ancestral lands, embracing a heritage and looking to the continent's potential as a way to fulfill dreams.
By Ann M. Simmons,
LATimes Staff Writer
DAR ES SALAAM, Tanzania - Two years ago, David Robinson caved in and bought a television set. A telephone followed shortly after. But Robinson still lives in a backwater where solar electricity is the norm, public transport is limited and cell phones don't work. Walking, sometimes for up to three hours, is often the only way to get a message to someone.
The son of baseball legend Jackie Robinson regards the sacrifice of a few modern conveniences as worthwhile. His dream, ever since setting foot in Africa as a tourist in 1967, was to settle down, connect with his cultural heritage and help develop the continent's economic potential.
In 1986, Robinson put down roots in Tanzania. He says he has never looked back. "It has exceeded any expectations that I had," said Robinson, 50. "One could never know the opportunities, the beauty, the pleasure of living here until one does live here."
Robinson is just one among a stream of African-Americans who have come to Africa to exercise what many consider an ancestral right: To make the continent their permanent home. Many are attracted by the ideal of solidarity and the prospect of being part of the racial majority. Others seek business opportunities that will both contribute to Africa's development and lead to personal gain. Still others want their children to appreciate their cultural heritage and to grow up in communities where their role models are people of color. Some come to retire.
Some newcomers have African spouses who can help ease them into their new environment. Many have both the education and money - along with the patience - to make their dreams of a new life on a new continent come true. In the process, these Americans believe they can help shape Africa's future. "Logically, the African-American tribes outside of Africa have something to offer and can play a role in Africa's global development," said Robinson, a onetime fisherman and exporter of African art who has been a coffee farmer for the last decade.
There are no concrete statistics on the number of African-Americans who have decided to settle in Africa. U.S. embassies do not register Americans living in individual countries by race. However, Tanzania, Ghana, Senegal, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Ethiopia and South Africa are among the countries that have welcomed African-Americans.
Estimates by those who count themselves among this new breed of settler range from as few as 15 permanent African-American residents in Tanzania to more than 1,000 in South Africa. For many, the transition has had bumps. In many African countries, communications and roads are poor. Public services are often unreliable. Tardiness and other annoying work habits frustrate many newcomers.
Such challenges did not deter the Connecticut-born Robinson. For him, moving to Tanzania felt natural. He was inspired, he said, by the example of his father, who broke major league baseball's color barrier in 1947. "When you are faced with the negatives of racism, to be supported by the personal courage and success of one's parent is a tremendous barrier against the negative attitudes of society," Robinson said.
Robinson, who married a Tanzanian woman after he arrived in Africa and is father of nine children, owns a 120-acre farm in the northern mountains, about 550 miles from Dar es Salaam, the capital. Called "Sweet Unity Farms," it is part of a 350-farm cooperative, of which Robinson is director of marketing and finance.
To buy his land, Robinson had to state his case to regional officials and village committees. In the end, he played the race card - in keeping with the views of Tanzania's revered founding father, Julius K. Nyerere, who preached unity and welcomed Blacks born outside Africa. "My ultimate presentation was that I was a Black person who had lost my nationalistic and tribal ties (to Africa) and I wanted to come back," recalled Robinson, who now speaks fluent Kiswahili, Tanzania's official language.
He was offered as much land as he could clear and use. A novice, Robinson relied heavily on his neighbors to learn farming. Today, he exports coffee beans to the United States. Tanzanian coffee is considered to be among the best in the world, and the beans fetch a premium price.
Robinson maintains that such success would have been harder to achieve in the United States. "I still believe the psychological barriers and calluses and bruises that we sustained throughout our American experience continues to block us from taking advantage of the opportunities that we can have," said Robinson, who retains a U.S. passport but expects to become a Tanzanian citizen. "We are not the normal American immigrant but the descendants of slaves. We have to recognize that."
It was business as well as the prospect of helping to develop a country governed by Black people that led Victoria Cooper in 1993 to the West African country of Ghana, across the continent from Robinson. "Growing up as an American, I would be doing a disservice if I came to Ghana and didn't share my talents and experiences gained in America with Ghanaians," said Cooper, 46, a St. Louis native.
A former partner in the accounting firm PricewaterhouseCoopers, she left in July 2001 to launch a consulting firm that advises governments on public sector reform and provides foreign investor services in West Africa. Cooper says that Ghana has untold potential. "The current administration has a focus on business, and one can feel the commitment," said Cooper, who is also president of the American Chamber of Commerce, Ghana. "Although they have an uphill battle, they recognize what that battle is."
The African-American Assn. in Ghana has about 50 dues-paying members, but many others regularly come to meetings, said Cooper, who presides over the group. During the last two years, several dozen African-Americans have arrived - some to pursue business, others to retire, she said.
Since becoming the first African colony to gain independence from Britain in 1957, Ghana has held a special appeal to African-Americans. U.S.-educated Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana's first president, was a proponent of repatriation to Africa. Hundreds heeded his call, and in the 1960s the nascent democracy became a popular destination for African-American activists, academics and professionals, including scholar W.E.B. DuBois and writer Maya Angelou.
The trend waned after Nkrumah was ousted in 1966, but it regained momentum while Jerry J. Rawlings, a former Ghanaian flight lieutenant, was in power. At a rally in Harlem in 1995, Rawlings announced plans to offer automatic Ghanaian citizenship to African-Americans. He urged them to invest their savings in Africa's future.
The offer of citizenship has since been modified to the right of abode, and legal details are still being ironed out, much to the frustration of some African-Americans. "Just taking him at his word, they packed up and came over expecting to get work permits," Cooper recalled. "It was easier said than done. Many have been disappointed that it has not happened sooner. But they are not totally discouraged."
In a way, Michael Giles was pursuing the American dream when he moved to South Africa in 1993. Giles said that despite having degrees from Harvard and Columbia Law School, he felt that obstacles including institutionalized racism would prevent him from reaching his full professional potential. "I thought I really can't take the risk of spending the years when you have the energy and the drive to do something exciting, squandering it in a place that is not going to be receptive," said Giles, 43, who is from Newark, NJ. "The tragedy is, race has blemished the opportunity for African-Americans to achieve the American dream."
Giles, who met his South African wife, Bernadette, at Harvard, gave up a career in corporate law to launch a chain of laundromats in South Africa. They later started a tourism company, Heritage Africa, in Johannesburg. "This place represents an opportunity," Giles said. "To be here now and involved in tourism is like being at the epicenter of what's going to be the future of South Africa - jobs, economic opportunities for Black people, growth of the economy."
Hundreds of African-Americans flocked to South Africa after Nelson Mandela led the country's first Black-majority government into power in 1994. Although the stream has slowed in recent years, South Africa still is considered the main hub of African-American resettlement. "It can lead the way for the rest of Africa," said Gayla Cook-Mohajane, 52, director of the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies, a Johannesburg-based American think-tank. She has lived in South Africa for 12 years. "For people looking for a place with energy, this is it. It is a very international place, a crossroads of culture."
South Africa may be especially attractive to African-Americans because of the problems elsewhere on the continent: political upheaval, dictatorship, rough living conditions, and language barriers. "South Africa, ironically, became the 'Great White Hope' of the Black diaspora," John Matshikiza, a respected South African columnist and university research fellow, wrote recently in the weekly Mail & Guardian newspaper.
"People speak comprehensible English here. Telephones work," he said. "There's a Black president, a largely Black Cabinet, Black empowerment and a Black economic elite that, even though they may show signs of moral confusion and fallibility, nevertheless symbolize a significant advance in the worldwide profile of the Black world."
*Coming To Africa (Part II)
Skin color does not always guarantee acceptance. Some South Africans found Americans who arrived soon after the transition to Black majority rule to be patronizing, cliquish and arrogant about the role they played in the struggle against apartheid. Others saw them as unwanted competition. Companies tried to meet affirmative action quotas by hiring African-Americans rather than South Africans.
"On the whole, the perception people had was that they came in with an attitude, that they wanted to teach these backward Africans a thing or two, that they were the better Africans," said Mzimkulu Malungu, projects manager for the Business Day and Financial Mail newspaper group. "People did not take too kindly to that."
Detroit native Francis Kornegay, a program coordinator in an international relations program at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, said South Africans still are adjusting to seeing Blacks from other African countries as well as from the United States. In recent years, South Africa has seen a flood of would-be immigrants from other parts of the continent. "When it comes to African-Americans, (their) attitude may be affected by their attitude of ambivalence to the U.S. in general," he said. "And most Black South Africans are quite ignorant about the anti-apartheid history in the U.S." African-Americans helped lead America's economic embargo against apartheid-era South Africa.
The Pan-African spirit that exists elsewhere, particularly in West Africa, the ancestral home of most African-Americans, is absent in South Africa, said Kornegay, who has lived there since 1994. Supporters of the Black Americans' endeavors in South Africa dismiss the issue of jobs as a smokescreen for petty jealousies. "We are not in direct competition with many South Africans, because most of us who come create our own jobs, and jobs for South Africans, or bring our own jobs with us," said Jerelyn Eddings, executive director of the Foundation for African Media Excellence, which promotes quality journalism in Africa.
On the whole, however, African-Americans say they have been made to feel welcome in Africa, sometimes moreso than in America. Race has been the major factor. "I feel comfortable because I am a person of color," said Cooper, the business consultant in Ghana. "It makes entrance easier. It breaks down some barriers that would immediately go up if I were not a person of color."
That feeling has been one of the best aspects of living in Africa for Robi Machaba, who was known as "Irving Robinson" back home in Columbus, Ga. The Waikoma ethnic group of Tanzania, among whom he has lived since 1985, gave Machaba his new name. A former development consultant, Machaba was given land in 1990 and now grows avocados and passion fruit near the shores of Lake Victoria. "Here I have land, whereas America has never given me my 40 acres and a mule," said Machaba, 59. He said he gives back by helping to curate an annual sculpture exhibit to raise funds for a bush basketball team he helps run.
Like most expatriates in Africa, African-Americans typically live comfortable lives. Many can afford nice homes and, when necessary, electrical generators, water storage tanks, and housekeeping and gardening services that help make up for the lack of infrastructure. Expatriates contrast their lives with African-Americans who have fallen prey to crime and drugs. Some of them believe social problems were intentionally planted in African-American communities to ensure their demise.
"One needs only to look at the American prisons, American substance abuse programs and the number of premature deaths, and you can see that society is successfully eliminating the African-American male," said David Robinson. "It is hard for a Black man in America, and in particular for a Black man with self-respect."
Ensuring that her son, Selasi, now 10, would grow up in an environment where his skin color would not be an obstacle was a key factor in Mona Boyd's decision to move to her husband's native Ghana in 1994. "I really wanted to give him the opportunity to grow into a confident man, without being marginalized in any way," said Boyd, 52, who owns the Avis car rental franchise in Accra, Ghana's capital, and a successful tour company. "I felt Ghana could do that for him."
She also wanted him to be surrounded by Black role models. Cooper felt the same way about her teenage daughters, both of whom grew up in Ghana. "They don't have to have any insecurity about who they are," Cooper said. "They can have a very high sense of self-esteem, because people they see doing big things – doctors, lawyers, engineers, even presidents – look like them. They can aspire to anything."
Cooper and Boyd both said exposing their children to their heritage was also important. "I was keenly aware that my heritage was very short," said Boyd, who can trace her family tree back 100 or so years to a farming community in Turrell, Arkansas. "We can only go back so far. I felt something was missing. My husband, being Ghanaian with a family history of a thousand years, I felt the best gift we could give Selasi was a part of this."
Even though such opportunities have made it easier for these Americans to leave the country of their birth, the United States remains a land that, ironically, receives thousands of applications every year from would-be African immigrants. "I like America, but I've decided not to be part of the finale," Machaba said. "I've found a place to die. It's just that simple. I am free here."
*Coming To Africa (Part II)
Skin color does not always guarantee acceptance. Some South Africans found Americans who arrived soon after the transition to Black majority rule to be patronizing, cliquish and arrogant about the role they played in the struggle against apartheid. Others saw them as unwanted competition. Companies tried to meet affirmative action quotas by hiring African-Americans rather than South Africans.
"On the whole, the perception people had was that they came in with an attitude, that they wanted to teach these backward Africans a thing or two, that they were the better Africans," said Mzimkulu Malungu, projects manager for the Business Day and Financial Mail newspaper group. "People did not take too kindly to that."
Detroit native Francis Kornegay, a program coordinator in an international relations program at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, said South Africans still are adjusting to seeing Blacks from other African countries as well as from the United States. In recent years, South Africa has seen a flood of would-be immigrants from other parts of the continent. "When it comes to African-Americans, (their) attitude may be affected by their attitude of ambivalence to the U.S. in general," he said. "And most Black South Africans are quite ignorant about the anti-apartheid history in the U.S." African-Americans helped lead America's economic embargo against apartheid-era South Africa.
The Pan-African spirit that exists elsewhere, particularly in West Africa, the ancestral home of most African-Americans, is absent in South Africa, said Kornegay, who has lived there since 1994. Supporters of the Black Americans' endeavors in South Africa dismiss the issue of jobs as a smokescreen for petty jealousies. "We are not in direct competition with many South Africans, because most of us who come create our own jobs, and jobs for South Africans, or bring our own jobs with us," said Jerelyn Eddings, executive director of the Foundation for African Media Excellence, which promotes quality journalism in Africa.
On the whole, however, African-Americans say they have been made to feel welcome in Africa, sometimes moreso than in America. Race has been the major factor. "I feel comfortable because I am a person of color," said Cooper, the business consultant in Ghana. "It makes entrance easier. It breaks down some barriers that would immediately go up if I were not a person of color."
That feeling has been one of the best aspects of living in Africa for Robi Machaba, who was known as "Irving Robinson" back home in Columbus, Ga. The Waikoma ethnic group of Tanzania, among whom he has lived since 1985, gave Machaba his new name. A former development consultant, Machaba was given land in 1990 and now grows avocados and passion fruit near the shores of Lake Victoria. "Here I have land, whereas America has never given me my 40 acres and a mule," said Machaba, 59. He said he gives back by helping to curate an annual sculpture exhibit to raise funds for a bush basketball team he helps run.
Like most expatriates in Africa, African-Americans typically live comfortable lives. Many can afford nice homes and, when necessary, electrical generators, water storage tanks, and housekeeping and gardening services that help make up for the lack of infrastructure. Expatriates contrast their lives with African-Americans who have fallen prey to crime and drugs. Some of them believe social problems were intentionally planted in African-American communities to ensure their demise.
"One needs only to look at the American prisons, American substance abuse programs and the number of premature deaths, and you can see that society is successfully eliminating the African-American male," said David Robinson. "It is hard for a Black man in America, and in particular for a Black man with self-respect."
Ensuring that her son, Selasi, now 10, would grow up in an environment where his skin color would not be an obstacle was a key factor in Mona Boyd's decision to move to her husband's native Ghana in 1994. "I really wanted to give him the opportunity to grow into a confident man, without being marginalized in any way," said Boyd, 52, who owns the Avis car rental franchise in Accra, Ghana's capital, and a successful tour company. "I felt Ghana could do that for him."
She also wanted him to be surrounded by Black role models. Cooper felt the same way about her teenage daughters, both of whom grew up in Ghana. "They don't have to have any insecurity about who they are," Cooper said. "They can have a very high sense of self-esteem, because people they see doing big things – doctors, lawyers, engineers, even presidents – look like them. They can aspire to anything."
Cooper and Boyd both said exposing their children to their heritage was also important. "I was keenly aware that my heritage was very short," said Boyd, who can trace her family tree back 100 or so years to a farming community in Turrell, Arkansas. "We can only go back so far. I felt something was missing. My husband, being Ghanaian with a family history of a thousand years, I felt the best gift we could give Selasi was a part of this."
Even though such opportunities have made it easier for these Americans to leave the country of their birth, the United States remains a land that, ironically, receives thousands of applications every year from would-be African immigrants. "I like America, but I've decided not to be part of the finale," Machaba said. "I've found a place to die. It's just that simple. I am free here."
You don't become King in Africa through legislature and treaties.
He killed, sold, or enslaved hundreds of thousands of his brethren. The only people trying to dispute this are the revisionists who work fervently to portray all non-white cultures as inherently innocent and without fault in all situations.
He killed, sold, or enslaved hundreds of thousands of his brethren. The only people trying to dispute this are the revisionists who work fervently to portray all non-white cultures as inherently innocent and without fault in all situations.
Probably the most famous southern African in history, Shaka Zulu is known for his peerless leadership of the Zulu clan. He was a fierce and militaristic king, contributing to the murder of a million people. To understand the man we know today as "King Shaka", we have to understand the driving force that made him to be the noted leader he was.
Shaka's mother was a child of a deceased chieftain of the eLangeni clan and her name was Nandi. Shaka's father was a chieftain of the small, then unknown Zulu clan and his name was Senzangakona. But an out of wedlock pregnancy--Nandi was said to be suffering from 'iShaka'(1)-- and a failed marriage forced Nandi to return to her tribe, but she was less welcomed there then with the Zulus. Shaka grew up fatherless among people who despised his mother and him. He was made the butt of every cruel joke and ridiculed about his body. He grew up lonely and bitter with his only companion being his mother, whose life also was miserable. The intelligent and naturally sensitive boy knew of his royal blood and the origins of his tormentors. He harbored great hatred for them till his death.
At the age of 23, he was called to serve as a Mtetwa warrior and did so for the next six years. In battle, he found an outlet for his pent-up frustrations and developed his political policy. He saw battle as the one safe method of political growth and was never satisfied with a clan's submission before being taken to war. He fought for total annihilation. He also developed a brutal and fatal weapon called the 'iKlwa'.
In his first battle, he fought the Butelezi clan winning their territories that included the Zulu clan. At this time, Dingiswayo, the Mtetwa chieftain, saw the qualities of a leader in Shaka. He decided that he would be the potential chieftain of the Zulus, especially since they were too far out in the Mtetwa territory and could be a buffer from outside attack. Meanwhile, Shaka was made the leader of the Mtetwa army and here he refined his battle tactics, tools and the army. When Senzangakona died, Shaka was made the Zulu chieftain. From that day forward the Zulus were destined for fame.
Shaka worked the Zulu warriors rigorously, treating them as clay for his molding. He punished the sign of slightest hesitation with death, commanded his army to become celibate except for those already wed, placed them under one roof but separated them in specialty regiments, made weapons from scratch and instilled in the warriors the same fighting spirit he had. He spared himself no luxury of a true king. He had now reshaped what had been the unknown Zulus.
The first people he attacked were the eLangeni clan. From them, he only spared those who showed him and his mother kindness. Then he went on and destroyed the Butelezi clan, leaving few survivors. He took the Butelezi maidens and formed them in a seraglio, which eventually numbered to 1,200 women. He never referred to them as his 'wives', which is what they would have normally been, but as his 'sisters'. He claimed offspirng were undesirable because they might someday oppose him, so he would only engage in ukuHlobonga (2). It is probable, due to his character in every other aspect, that he never managed to consummate a full relationship with any of these women.
By 1817, the Zulu territories had quadrupled. In that autumn, word got to Shaka that his stepfather lay dying. He returned to bid him good-bye. He then met with the Mtetwa chief, Dingiswayo, and they decided to engage in a major expedition that would take over much of Southeast Africa. That year, Dingiswayo died and battles between major clans began to take over the Mtetwa Empire. By 1820, Shaka had won and commanded most of southeast Africa and Natal.
In 1824, Europeans had arrived at Natal post and visited Shaka. During this visit, Shaka was stabbed by enemy clans and was treated by the Europeans. Shaka held these Europeans in high regard. He signed over land to them not knowing he had actually given it away. The Europeans aided Shaka in his wars to conquer more of South Africa. While on a hunt with Europeans, word came to Shaka that his mother lay dying. In grief, Shaka ordered several men executed but in the chaos, over 7,000 people died. Shaka practically ordered his clan to death by starvation in reverence to his mother. After three months, order was finally restored, but the seed of anguish against Shaka had been sowed. Shaka and his army began to go downhill as Shaka seemed to increasingly lose touch with reality. On September 22nd, 1828, this once great 'king' and warrior of Africa was murdered. His half brothers from his father repeatedly stabbed him to death. They took the body and threw it in an empty grain pot, which then was filled with stones.
This ended the 12-year rule of 'King Shaka'. He was believed to be 41 years old at his death. His legacy, to this day, still echoes and lives on.
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Shaka's mother was a child of a deceased chieftain of the eLangeni clan and her name was Nandi. Shaka's father was a chieftain of the small, then unknown Zulu clan and his name was Senzangakona. But an out of wedlock pregnancy--Nandi was said to be suffering from 'iShaka'(1)-- and a failed marriage forced Nandi to return to her tribe, but she was less welcomed there then with the Zulus. Shaka grew up fatherless among people who despised his mother and him. He was made the butt of every cruel joke and ridiculed about his body. He grew up lonely and bitter with his only companion being his mother, whose life also was miserable. The intelligent and naturally sensitive boy knew of his royal blood and the origins of his tormentors. He harbored great hatred for them till his death.
At the age of 23, he was called to serve as a Mtetwa warrior and did so for the next six years. In battle, he found an outlet for his pent-up frustrations and developed his political policy. He saw battle as the one safe method of political growth and was never satisfied with a clan's submission before being taken to war. He fought for total annihilation. He also developed a brutal and fatal weapon called the 'iKlwa'.
In his first battle, he fought the Butelezi clan winning their territories that included the Zulu clan. At this time, Dingiswayo, the Mtetwa chieftain, saw the qualities of a leader in Shaka. He decided that he would be the potential chieftain of the Zulus, especially since they were too far out in the Mtetwa territory and could be a buffer from outside attack. Meanwhile, Shaka was made the leader of the Mtetwa army and here he refined his battle tactics, tools and the army. When Senzangakona died, Shaka was made the Zulu chieftain. From that day forward the Zulus were destined for fame.
Shaka worked the Zulu warriors rigorously, treating them as clay for his molding. He punished the sign of slightest hesitation with death, commanded his army to become celibate except for those already wed, placed them under one roof but separated them in specialty regiments, made weapons from scratch and instilled in the warriors the same fighting spirit he had. He spared himself no luxury of a true king. He had now reshaped what had been the unknown Zulus.
The first people he attacked were the eLangeni clan. From them, he only spared those who showed him and his mother kindness. Then he went on and destroyed the Butelezi clan, leaving few survivors. He took the Butelezi maidens and formed them in a seraglio, which eventually numbered to 1,200 women. He never referred to them as his 'wives', which is what they would have normally been, but as his 'sisters'. He claimed offspirng were undesirable because they might someday oppose him, so he would only engage in ukuHlobonga (2). It is probable, due to his character in every other aspect, that he never managed to consummate a full relationship with any of these women.
By 1817, the Zulu territories had quadrupled. In that autumn, word got to Shaka that his stepfather lay dying. He returned to bid him good-bye. He then met with the Mtetwa chief, Dingiswayo, and they decided to engage in a major expedition that would take over much of Southeast Africa. That year, Dingiswayo died and battles between major clans began to take over the Mtetwa Empire. By 1820, Shaka had won and commanded most of southeast Africa and Natal.
In 1824, Europeans had arrived at Natal post and visited Shaka. During this visit, Shaka was stabbed by enemy clans and was treated by the Europeans. Shaka held these Europeans in high regard. He signed over land to them not knowing he had actually given it away. The Europeans aided Shaka in his wars to conquer more of South Africa. While on a hunt with Europeans, word came to Shaka that his mother lay dying. In grief, Shaka ordered several men executed but in the chaos, over 7,000 people died. Shaka practically ordered his clan to death by starvation in reverence to his mother. After three months, order was finally restored, but the seed of anguish against Shaka had been sowed. Shaka and his army began to go downhill as Shaka seemed to increasingly lose touch with reality. On September 22nd, 1828, this once great 'king' and warrior of Africa was murdered. His half brothers from his father repeatedly stabbed him to death. They took the body and threw it in an empty grain pot, which then was filled with stones.
This ended the 12-year rule of 'King Shaka'. He was believed to be 41 years old at his death. His legacy, to this day, still echoes and lives on.
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White Devil, you said that Shaka "enslaved his own bretherens" or something of that nature. I don't recall reading that Shaka was a slave trader. I do recall reading about slave raids that were conducted by the British for the British under the name of Zulu invasions. These raids were during the time of Shaka's rule.
Shaka didn't need slaves, the British did. Thats how the Afrikaneers built there power in South Africa much like whites built there wealth in America.
Of course some black tribes in South Africa participated in the slave trading of other tribes but it's one of those annihilate or be annihilated situations.
Shaka didn't need slaves, the British did. Thats how the Afrikaneers built there power in South Africa much like whites built there wealth in America.
Of course some black tribes in South Africa participated in the slave trading of other tribes but it's one of those annihilate or be annihilated situations.