By OBI93

In an Uber ride I took around last spring, I was asked by the driver about my name and its origin. During these rides, I typically listen to music or on my phone, but due to the topic, I felt less introverted than usual. A few minutes of conversation passed and what seemed to stick with her the most was my accent. 

She said I sounded like I’m from the East coast, but spoke at a southern cadence and pace. When she asked where I was from and where my family was from (a Nigerian family, but born and raised in Washington, DC), she told me her husband was Nigerian. 

She asked me what that was like for me. “What was what like?” Not really understanding her question. 

“Well, you’re first-generation American and also Nigerian. My husband tells me stories about what that was like for him in Houston.”

And yes, there were similarities in our stories. Not just limited to the cities themselves, but specifically Uptown, DC and 3rd Ward, Houston have large populations of the African diaspora. 

Large families in the city and abroad, religion, strong family value amidst our lower and middle class neighborhoods, family emphasis on education, culture and language were topics briefly discussed (in a 40 min ride) which led to a somewhat surprising commonality– a search for identity.

In our younger years, we both struggled with belonging.

Perhaps a generational experience for millennials (can’t speak for Gen Z or Alpha), but across the inner cities of major American cities, there seems or seemed to be a synonymous experience of infighting amongst people in the African diaspora – whether that be colorism, nationalism, tribalism, classism and any other relevant “ism” I’m forgetting. Some may just point to it as human nature.

Too light-skinned for the darker skinned, too Americanized for the Africans, too African for African-Americans, not Igbo enough for the elders, too pretentious for “hood” mannerisms, the condensing and sometimes the strategic notion of knowing when to  “talk white” or speak ebonics.

My experience, in more ways than not, was that of her husband’s – different city, different family, but the same culture and environment nurtured the similar experiences. 

There’s a lot of beauty in culture and identity, but, in my experience, it can be accompanied with strife and complexities.
I don’t know if this happened with my younger cousins (as I feel their generation became emotionally intelligent and accepting of diversity at an earlier age), but growing up in Uptown, DC I often experienced unjustified belittlement from African-Americans kids.

I observed it was towards first-generation American kids from not only an African background as myself, but towards first-generation Americans or immigrants by way of Latin America, Middle East, Asia, etc. Granted, the dynamic didn’t emanate from all kids, but from those that did, it couldn’t help but feel like it was coming from all angles. 

“Shut your African ass up boy”
“But you’re African too, you’re black just like me” 

“Eww – you smell like fish.”
“Bro what are you talking about – my mom did my laundry yesterday. It smells like Lavender Spring.” (Her favorite scent to buy). 

**Amongst Nigerians**
“Why are you speaking through your nose? Don’t you know you’re Igbo – why are you speaking like Americans ”? 

“You should learn to speak your language like Obi – look at, why don’t you know how to speak Igbo?”
**Blaming their children instead of taking responsibility for not teaching their kids their tribal tongue**

**Amongst Africans**
“I’m not African, I’m Egyptian.”

“You really believe that?” 

“I mean, we’re not like you” (adverted to the difference in our skin tones) 

**Amongst Neighbors [first week parents moved into a new neighborhood in DC] **
“How’s it going sir?”
“I don’t know you like that, why are you being so damn friendly”

“Well, the Bible says to love thy neighbor as thyself?” (My pops is genuinely a nice guy)
“Take that Bible bullshit back to Africa” 

The one was the most telling to me because although it occurred between two men of different nationalities (Nigerian [father] and American [neighbor]), they’re baby boomers – belonging to the same age group and same socioeconomic conditions America historically imposed on men of their race and origin.

You would think this mentality I’ve been alluding to is naive and is outgrown once you get older. Some people change. Some people really go through life imposing their fears and insecurities with all the “Isms” referred to earlier.

I feel like learning if one fits or where one fits on the spectrum of black identity is an experience for most who were born and raised in the African diaspora. More so, identity, no matter the ethnicity, is crucial in our social structure. I point to this in CALCIUMFORBLACKFOLK as the human experience is social – we’re codependent.

My journey from an African booty scratcher to a prideful, yet complex first-generation Nigerian-American took time. Time can come in the form of community service,  neighborhood fights,religion, self-education, perspective from travel, culture, the unlearning of ego, a surprising interracial relationship that I’m sure my younger self would have never fathomed,  and my favorite hip hop albums that I dissect like poetry.

What’s healthy for you?

Your job, your family, your political views, your public image, your pride, your language, your mental health, your roots, your friendships, your bank account. Whatever it is, I hope it’s adding calcium to your bones.