I was lying in my bed covered in blankets and falling into a dream, thoughts scattered and filled my mind. The sound of a bloodsucking mosquito in my room buzzed loud near my ear. My mind kept running with thoughts, it abruptly paused on a single one.
“Tell me your story, Africa”
A mystery Africa is.
I quickly switched on my light, sat up, and looked around for the mosquito. There it was! Straight in front of me, on the white-painted wall, sat the little sucker. I grabbed a tissue from my bedside table and inched closer to the mosquito… “Tell me your story Africa”, repeated in my head as I inched closer to the mosquito. “Tell me your story…” WHAM! I slammed the tissue on the wall… “Oh! It got away!” WHAM! “Ha! I got it” That was close, for a second I had thought the mosquito got away. I stared at the wall, pleased with myself, but truthfully, it wasn’t the mosquito that awoke me, it was the words that continued to play in my head.
“Tell me your story, Africa.”
My family is from Eritrea, the young nation in the Horn of Africa. At a time of war and struggle, my family left Eritrea and took refuge in the neighbouring country of Sudan, and it was there that I was born. A couple of years after my birth, my family settled in America.
Growing up, my parents shared many stories about Eritrea. They filled my young mind with stories of family, of their childhood, and their villages. They even shared stories about my birthplace, Sudan. I always listened with open ears. At the time, I was young, I didn’t understand the concept of war and what taking refuge meant, so I couldn’t comprehend why my parents left it all behind.
My elementary school mainly contained minority students from all over the world. It was truly a great learning experience being exposed to people from America, Europe, Asia, South America, and even from Africa. We all looked so different from one another and spoke different languages.
It was there that I learned that being different wasn’t easy, even among people who were just as different as you.
Africa wasn’t spoken of so highly and being African wasn’t something to be proud of. For example, I remember not understanding the issue people had with skin colour. People were constantly teased about being darker. I remember witnessing my older brother being teased about his darker skin and how he just took it, and sometimes even laughed along with the others. Though I was a lot younger, I would get so upset and uncomfortable. I loved my skin, I loved my brother’s skin, so why was it a problem to others? I remember black students teasing the African students and vice-versa. From my visual perspective, they were the same person, black or African. “Monkey Eater! African booty-scratcher!” were a few of the insults thrown around in classrooms. The teasing and bullying towards anything related to Africa conflicted me greatly and sometimes I felt ashamed of who I was. I remember not wanting to pronounce my last name because of this one classmate of mine, who would laugh and laugh and laugh. When my parents spoke in public, I felt everyone around was staring at us because of their accents and their foreign language. I wanted them to get rid of their accents and strictly speak English. I even remember wanting my mom to cook “American food”. I was always so happy when she made French fries! Hot dogs! Fried Chicken! I just wanted us to fit in.
Fortunately, my parents filled my childhood with their stories, music, dance, and love. Because of my parents, I learned to love my origin. The teasing and the negativity towards being different, never completely defeated me. Over time I became stronger and prouder each day. Africa, although far in distance was close to my heart. Who is this Africa I am speaking of? I wish I could tell you, but the truth is I don’t entirely know.
In the summer of 2008, I visited Eritrea with my mom and siblings for the first time. I remember the moment I stepped out of the plane feeling the fresh air that filled up my lungs. Throughout the couple months I spend there I was overwhelmed by an abundance of experiences from the land, culture, city, and people. I was humbled. Never in my life had I felt as close as I did to the earth, to people, and to the joy, as I had that summer in Eritrea that when it came time to leave, it was difficult. I wanted to know more, hear more, and learn more.
Something that struck me during that time in Eritrea, was the peace I felt. I remember when I sat on top of a great hill near my aunt’s village and watched the sunset the feeling was vibrant. “This is the land that many fear and judge but yet here I simply sit and find the greatest calmness I’ve ever found”
There is so much to learn about Africa and so much to see. Without Africa, I truly believe there would be no world. After all, she is the motherland. She is where the seeds of life were sown. She could feed the world but yet so many have died and are dying in her hands. So many wars, corruption, diseases have filled her land and continue to do so. Power hungry brutes have stolen, stripped, and wounded her, nevertheless, she stands strong and resilient. Africa is a mystery, a wonder, a treasure, a misunderstood beauty and I want to know her stories.
(Reflection from Autumn 2009)
Africa…
Teach me your name
Unveil your faces
Humble me
Lift me
With unconditional faith
Sing me your songs
Move me…fill me
Body and spirit
Wash it with rain
Smile
Illuminate the night
Enlighten the blind
Your stories mysterious and Great
May we celebrate your name
And sing your songs
And feed on your wisdom, your history, and your spirit
Great joy and pain
Show us life
Teach us life
Teach us your name