Where I Stand: Voice in the Community Week 3 Video 

For the third week, we focus on the identity. Whether African or of African descent or Black (non-African). This week we tell stories of our experiences that have transformed us, our mindsets, and our sense of identity. Or maybe you view this week as an opportunity to explore and explain what your identity is, or what it means to you. Feel free to use the following questions to guide you as you watch this video.

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Identity Crisis

I use to be able to easily say that I identified with being African more than I could to being black in America. But how could I identify with Congo more than America when I only lived in the country just four years? I argued, well because I ate the food, I spoke the language and my ndombolo was on point.

Then there was a period of time where I got criticized by other Africans for, “acting too black and American” and from other Congolese on my “American accent.” So then at that time I would have said that I identified with being Black-American more. Again, I argued, I could cuss like them; sing the black national anthem and crip walk down my middle school hallway.

My home experience was a whirlwind of trying to maintain Congolese customs and trying to assimilate to whatever the American culture was—which changed when I was with other brown people and then again when I was with vanilla people. Either I was Black-American or I was an African immigrant in America. But for some reason I always felt like I couldn’t be both simultaneously. I always felt like I had to choose for some reason—thinking that we were so different that I had to be one or the other. As silly as it seems, I thought I either had to like french fries or fufu; Teddy Pendergrass or Koffi Olomide; Chinese fried rice or jollof rice. It was always a coin toss in my mind and it use to drive me crazy. I was jumping back and forth depending on the crowd because I didn’t want to feel like I was denying one side.

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Identity Crisis I use to be able to easily say that I identified with being African more than I could to being black in America. But how could I identify with Congo more than America when I only lived in the country just four years? I argued, well because I ate the food, I spoke the language and my ndombolo was on point. Then there was a period of time where I got criticized by other Africans for, “acting too black and American” and from other Congolese on my “American accent.” So then at that time I would have said that I identified with being Black-American more. Again, I argued, I could cuss like them; sing the black national anthem and crip walk down my middle school hallway. My home experience was a whirlwind of trying to maintain Congolese customs and trying to assimilate to whatever the American culture was—which changed when I was with other brown people and then again when I was with vanilla people. Either I was Black-American or I was an African immigrant in America. But for some reason I always felt like I couldn’t be both simultaneously. I always felt like I had to choose for some reason—thinking that we were so different that I had to be one or the other. As silly as it seems, I thought I either had to like french fries or fufu; Teddy Pendergrass or Koffi Olomide; Chinese fried rice or jollof rice. It was always a coin toss in my mind and it use to drive me crazy. I was jumping back and forth depending on the crowd because I didn’t want to feel like I was denying one side. Read More High-res