I always wanted to go to Africa. Like most Afro-Americans, I grew up in an environment idolizing everything, Africa. My maternal grandmother made it clear that everything Africa is best.
Granny did not, however, spend time disparaging the accomplishments of other cultures. Growing up in Nicaragua's Latino and black cultures. And for me, there is no differentiating between these two ethnicities. Latinos are blacks, and black are Latinos. But this is not so for everyone who finds favor with one group. In Africa, these distinctions will magnify. Creating a surreal world where an elite minority will treat other with indifferent.
Sometimes stereotype can explain things If it was easy as black and white. However, things are seldom black or white. The usual stereotype can't explain Africa's ethnic differences; most folk's look dark to me, but they're differences; differences that go back for centuries.
The Sierra Leoneans asked me often, "are you Nigerian," "American" or "Hausa," those usually came up. Chief Morsay defined Biko and me as "white. His index finger was rubbing the top of his hand for emphasis. When Afro-Americans do this in a conversation, we know that it's an obstacle akin to "Whites Only. In Africa, it matters where you come from, or from what side of the river; in the case of the Congo's Bushong and the Lele ethnic group; what side of the river makes a difference socially politically and financially.
But none of that was on my mind. I was excited to go to Africa. Relating to my grandmother's Afrocentric beliefs; I wanted to see for myself the grandeur of the continent that launched civilization and everything that makes us beautiful: The melanin, the curves, rhythm, the food. A list of defense mechanism, my self-esteem used to combat the constant influx of American racist propaganda, where everything is about color, and black is the shade that faints all colors.
