‘Do you feel… British?’
On some days and other days, not so much.
I recall going to Primary school with my afro sectioned and weaved around with black thread then left to stand erect in the air. I never saw the problem till I was mocked and labelled ‘Spider girl’. I could not grasp why there was such a commotion made when I referred to my teachers as ‘Uncle/Auntie’, after all I was taught to believe this was curtsy in its finest form. It baffled me that I was told not to speak Twi or Gua (Anum-Boso) and so I was placed on a strict diet of reciting a rather basic language with so many rules. Still, it did not stop me from gathering leaves in the school bushes with my childhood friend, then finding a large rock to grind these leaves into what we believed to be ‘egusi’. I still ate fufu and chicken soup in a asanka bowl together with my family and Hollywood movies? What was Hollywood movies compared to Papa Ajasco, Super Story, scary tales of Patience Ozokwor being the evil mother and how could I forget TT the Taxi Driver!
In the early 90’s my parents migrated to Britain and consequently I was born and bred in London. So why then didn’t I feel British ‘enough’, if this is all I have ever known?
The art of balancing between two very different cultures isn’t completely achieved because one will always feel more natural in comparison to the other. The British culture – although mesmerising, it came second to exciting tales of life in Ghana. To my surprise I was not the only one who carried such sentiments. I lived in East London, to many the first thing that comes to mind is ‘TopBoy’ or melodramatic tales of hooded youngsters antagonising the community with knives. Although, this is true (to an extent), the area I grew up in was abundant with migrant Ghanaians who where desperate and excited to recreate a home they had left long ago. I was recognised and surrounded by people from who would shout my name across the road and tell me to greet my parents for them. Soon, I learnt that there were several types of bread other than Kingsmill or Hovis and I became accustomed to the smell of akpeteshie when I walked past Ghanaian shops.
As years progressed I adopted a seesaw approach between the two cultures. School was where I perfected my English to a spotless shine. Whereas home, with the influence of the streets, was where the shine rusticated slightly in exchange of affiliating myself with the latest Hiplife music, and listening to tales Kwaku Anansi before bedtime.
Still, the question left to answer is, do I feel British?
I feel as British as the patriotic man chanting ‘England, England, England!’ down the pub on Victoria Road whilst watching a football match; and as Ghanaian as a child learning to play oware in holes dug in the sand. I have almost mastered the balancing act of being two nationalities at once, and that is okay.
You may travel oceans and cross seas but your mother remains in your tongue.
For the children of Africa freckled in the diaspora
© Akvsua 2017
97 prodding thoughts 