Background for reading this blog entry: 1. For all of you who do not know me, I am African-American but very fair in complexion but I am not bi-racial. I just recently cut my hair and it is now about 4 inches long and is usually in some sort of curly afro. 2. Barack Obama's family is from the same area we are living in this summer.
On Sunday I visited an Anglican Church which provided lunch after the service. Following the meal, a man called me over and asked to speak with me. He said, "Your hair looks like mine but your skin does not." He asked me if I was like Barack Obama. Not knowing exactly what he meant, I replied, "ummm, not so much." I didn't know if he was referring to Obama being bi-racial or a black American. I tried as best as I could to explain that there are many different skins tones in America. I even went so far as to admit that there must have been a white person somewhere in my family tree but I don't know where. Still looking confused he asked me what percentage of America was black and I said about 12%. He replied that I must be 88% American. (lol – and we actually laughed about it) We finally agreed that I was just a black American.
Even before this conversation I wondered how people in Africa would perceive me. One of the interns from last year (who is a dark-skinned African-American was told by one man, "Welcome Home." I knew that wouldn't happen to me.") The fact is that I have had to answer similar questions about my heritage all of my life so I was well-versed on how to respond. Yet, as an African-American I often think of Africa as my "home" in some ways. It is the "motherland." But what happens when you bare only a slight resemblance to your mother? Will she recognize you? The man was able to see that I somehow shared a likeness with him but only because of my hair. What if he had met me weeks ago when my hair was longer and straighter? Would he have been able to recognize me? In some ways it is disappointing that those I consider to be my "brothers and sisters" do not see me as such. To them, I'm just another "mzungu" ("white person"), a foreigner.
One thing I have learned, however, even in this short time in Kenya is that while I may not be considered a sister of the Kenyans through blood or heritage I do share a family line that runs thicker than blood. By worshipping, praying, and singing together, I have found myself to be among and received as the sister in Christ of the Christian Kenyans. In this regard, while Kenya may not be my "motherland" we do share the same Father, the shed blood of our mutual brother, and our faith which binds us closer than hair texture or skin complexion.
No comments:
Post a Comment