The Displaced African » Immigrant stories

Why Some Africans Hate Charity? Explained By the Cast of Friends

Mwangi — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 10:05:36 +0000

When I watched this episode of Friends, I thought, “Yup! That captures what a lot of African people feel about charity!”

The Cast

Africa and Africans will be represented by Joey, Rachel and Phoebe

The West and its charitable shall be represented by Ross, Monica and Chandler

Wish I Could Embed It But Sadly I Can’t

Take note of the group dynamics and let me know what you think:

http://www.sidereel.com/Friends_(1994)/_watchlinkviewer/14893

Wambui Shares Tips for Anyone Moving to Seattle, Washington, USA

Mwangi — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 02:31:43 +0000

Mwangi’s note: Why on Earth they would confuse the world by having a place called Washington D.C. and then an entirely separate State called “Washington” I don’t know, but anyway enjoy this guest post from an old friend of mine, Wambui.

Mwangi asked me:

“What advice would you give someone that is coming to Seattle, WA.?”

Well carry an umbrella and a jacket. It rains often. You’ll need it. The weather here changes in a minute and most of the time it changes to rain. I’ve been here 3 years now and I am still not accustomed to how much it rains.

mamamusings

Get your geography right:

Seattle is in Washington State. Not to be confused with Washington DC. DC is in the East. Washington State is the Northwest. Seattle, WA = Northwest.

Get your documentation right

It is important to make sure you visit the necessary government offices as soon as you possible can to get yourself not started on the right path. Get an id card. Get a bank account. Get a social security card if you are allowed to get one. It really is much easier to get a head if you do things legally. Don’t over stay your visa and use your visa for the right purpose i.e don’t come on a visitor visa and then attempt to become a student or worker without getting a permit to do so.

Seattle is somewhat tolerant. But once people know you are not originally from here they ask questions. These questions are usually to find out your intention of being in Seattle and the US. Seattleites know their basic immigration stuff – they know about visas and how they work – they are not afraid to ask how long your visa is for and what you plan on doing next(using the word next is their polite way of saying when it expires) . They are also big on following the law… No easy shortcuts or hookups.

Get your money right:

Understand the value of money. Seattle is not considered a super expensive city, but it is definitely not on the cheap list. It’s very easy to get caught up in the Seattle’s art and culinary scenes. Its easy to spend in small doses here, However those small doses add up when you look at your balance and realize that the ten dollars (plus tip because it is expected and customary here) you spent eating out every week adds up to 100 bucks. Please live within your means. It’s a common problem with African immigrants here in Seattle attempting to show people that they aren’t “poor”. It really isn’t cool because most people can see through the façade. If you can’t afford it, don’ t do it.

Get yourself right:

You need to get in the mind frame of “me, myself and I”. Family isn’t always there to help and even if they are they may not be willing to help you. Friends come and go. So know who you are and where you are going.
You also need to have your emotions in check. Its gets lonely, it gets depressing, it gets hard, people question you and who you are. This is where self confidence comes in. You need to be confident in who you are. You’ll meet people out there who aren’t cool with who you are and the way you look or the way you dress.

Also you need to be happy with what you have at the moment. Always work for better things. But don’t ever let anyone get you down. One has to learn to feel good about themselves and the current position they are in while still working for something better.

Seattle is a huge melting pot when it comes to culture. People are from all over. However one needs to be aware that as much as it is a huge pot. People may not be open to understanding your culture or who you are. As friendly as the Seattle is it is a little cold c. Everyone says “hi” and they are excited to see you the first time around. Don’t be surprised if they meet you on the street next week don’t acknowledge you. Don’t worry though its not you. It’s just how they are. It is known as the “Seattle freeze”

Please don’t be shocked if you find people talking to you like you are inferior. A lot of people here while calling themselves tolerant are not. They will be opening to getting to meet you and having fun with you but its all superficial. They are not interested in what you are about or where you are from. As I said … don’t focus too much on this. It’s not you its just them.

Get to know the city:

Mag3737

You’ve got to learn how to get around. Remember, it’s just you. People can only help you for so long. Fortunately one doesn’t really need to buy a car if you live in proper Seattle. This is because Seattle has one of the best bus systems in the USA. The buses run on a regular schedule and they take you to pretty much any suburb in what is known as King County.

The faster you get to know the city, the faster it will be to get around and get things accomplished. It is especially crucial because people will always be willing to give you directions but they only know directions of places that concern them.

If you opt to get a car. Please do your research!!

My experience in Seattle that you need to know a few main streets ( Pike, Pine , Westlake, Madison, 3rd Ave, and Bell) Navigating through downtown is is a breeze once you know these.

Get your accent right:

Did you say you were from Africa? Great!

Well half of what you say will not be understood, the first few times. They’ll always tell you that they love your accent but it doesn’t mean they are understanding what you are saying. To this day, I’ve been here 3 years, I can’t really order a Hamburger at most restaurants, I have to get a friend to do it for me. Why, you ask? Well apparently the way I say it would be spelt out as “Hambagga”. Same applies for most words that end with “er”. Personally most people delight in the way I say “whatever” and they repeat it endlessly to whoever will listen. Oh and they love the way Kenyans pronounce the letters of the alphabet. Apparently we say “h” differently!

Get comp savvy:

Seattle is after all home to Microsoft and Amazon! Google and Adobe also have huge offices here. So please… don’t walk around seattle and not know how to use a computer. Or what a CPU is? It would be good too if u knew that C+ and Java are programs too because a good number of people you meet will be in IT professions.

Here’s Why It’s Confusing Being Me and It Might Be Confusing Being You Too

Mwangi — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 20:10:17 +0000

I exist in an extremely odd shade of gray. This post will be as the title suggests, a confused convoluted conversation about confusion. Uncensored and unedited, straight from my brain to your eyes.

Discussion

I was talking to a friend of mine today. This guy is one of the first people I ever met when I came to this country and we both came when we were in high school and have pretty much entered adulthood in this country.

We Have a Very Strange Identity

Our identities are odd because:

1) We identify with Kenyan culture much more than we do the host culture: Here it’s a 50/50 split. Some people come in their teens and completely soak up this culture, the language, the fashion and make their friends and their lives here.

Then there are people like us who come here either 3/4 formed or fully formed (I of course speak of psychology, body, hormones etc etc very different story) who have been so shaped by the culture of where we came from and/or may have been rejected by the people here so we find it weird to change.

2) We Think and Act VERY Differently From Native Kenyans

Want clear proof of that? Look at this blog. I have 227 articles that I spent 9 months putting together simply because it was what I felt would be the most meaningful thing to do.

In Africa that = An idiot

Sure from time to time, some of us should get together and talk about what we should do and maybe even engage in projects part time. But engaging in a blog FULL TIME for 9 months where you pour everything into it and put the message and the purpose ahead of the money.

That’s absolute stupidity

The other differences are quite subtle but they are definitely there. What it boils down to though is:

I love where I am from and identify with it at the core of my being.

There are MANY things I dislike about my culture at the core.

There are MANY things I like about the Australian culture at my core.

A Few of My Favorite Things

I like the fact that people here, not always but enough that it counts, don’t wait for people to solve their problems but take it upon themselves to do so, starting new industries and social movements in the process.

I love the personal development movement.

I love the fact that people here are willing to put themselves on the line for an idea and won’t just sit on the sidelines criticizing.

I love the fact that people here actually think about their health AND take action in the way they eat and live to take care of their bodies.

I love the fact that people here are always testing out their boundaries in real life instead of in the abstract.

As I said, this meandering post will probably resonate with some of you who are just plain confused and feel like a tiny minority in a large Western country.

There Is No Sub-Culture For People Like Me

I am not saying this because of arrogance but its true. I know no one like me. I know no one who has feet in both puddles like I do. There are no songs sung about people like me, no movies made, no poets, no discussion groups, no forums.

I just have to spend my time immersed with African culture one day and put it to the side while I engage in Western affairs another day.

I have to speak with a certain slang one day and change it up the next.

Not That I Am Complaining

I think I have been too blessed in my life to just be outright angry about something that is ultimately not a bad quality problem to have.

This situation doesn’t really anger me. It just saddens me from time to time, because I am yet to resolve it. If this resonated with you, leave a comment below or email me and let me know what your situation is.

Working through the confusion,

Mwangi

When the Deal Is Too Good Think Twice

Mwangi — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 16:05:15 +0000

Hey everyone, I am absolutely ecstatic that Caroline has decided to do a second guest post here on tDA. For those who haven’t read her first guest post, check out Would You Play a Game of Russian Roulette. If you would like to share your immigrant story and use this blog as a platform (thanks as always to those who have already done this), contact me and I shall see what we can do. Mwangi here signing out and leaving the floor open for Caroline Atieno

When the deal is too good think twice…

By Caroline Achieng Otieno.

Have you ever heard of the English proverb ‘Look before you leap?’ Bet you have, it was one of my favourites as a child, however, most times I thought of it in terms of jumping into a muddy puddle if I didn’t look, so it was literal for me. Just before leaving Kenya years back, there was an interesting commentary in one of the dailies that came in weekly that bears similarity to ‘look-before-you-leap.’ It was tagged, “When the deal is too good, think twice…” It was quite interesting, to some extent hilarious and was a narrative of guys who had fallen victim to some of the conmen prowling the streets of Nairobi. Granted, things were pretty tough that time in Kenya, structural adjustment policies were taking a big chunk out of people’s pockets and there was a lot of hustling and jostling going on. While some folks were really trying hard to pull in that valuable shilling, other folks were busy trying to offload the same valuable shilling through clandestine means.

Now, gone were the days that conmen filled bags with newspapers and looked for desperados who wanted a miracle so bad they would close their eyes and give them cash that would double, triple or quadruple and get back to them that way. Due to hard times, and an audience that could see through their trickery, conmen had metamorphosed into skilful con-artists. Their modus-operandi was sophistication; not going solo but in two’s or three’s, not exclusively male- but of mixed gender; well polished, articulate and highly intelligent. If any response was needed to outdo these con-artists, it was to be as damn smart-ass as they were, fight fire with fire so to speak.

Scenario 1: I recall one time rushing from Kenyatta hospital where I had come from visiting a sick friend. A handsome well-groomed gentleman stops me. I enthusiastically returned his greeting, wondering whether I know him, and step aside to walk on. He waves a hand bearing a gold-watch, and motions for me to sit with him on the pavement.

Would he have a word with me? Sure, I thought, ignoring my rumbling stomach’s pleas to be fed. I listened to a long tale of how he came from a nearby country, and how he was stranded here, and about the love of God to His children. Well, as he is yammering on, in a conversation that has neither head nor tail, out of the blue a pretty damsel barges in and greets him with enthusiasm and acts like she hasn’t seen him for a long time. They carry a brief conversation before he motions for her to join us, she introduces herself to me and does so. Great! Now we are a trio. The conversation continues endlessly, going round and about in circles, and I finally realize that there’s something these two are after. They are by no means interested in my conversion to any religion; rather in how much money I am willing to part with. For the love of all things bright and beautiful, I don’t have squat on me. Not a penny. As soon as they hear me out, they suddenly and abruptly end the wonderful conversation, begging to be excused. They have an urgent matter to attend, and they leave like a harsh dog (Mbwa Kali ) was nipping at their heels. I shrug, scratch my head, brush off my skirt and take off to the nearest bus-stop. My tummy is rumbling twice as loud as before, I have to get home. It strikes me then, the couple are con-artists.

Scenario 2: I am accosted by two women on the streets of Nairobi, at the City Centre. They see something on my forehead and feel I need prayers as to avert some disaster ‘waiting-to- happen. I have to sow seed so that they can pray for me. I see their insistence. I go to the one ATM type in the wrong number, and get my card rejected. I signal to them that this ATM is not working, would they wait for me to get to another ATM. I hurriedly take off in the opposite direction leaving our sisters gazing into space.

Scenario 3: I now live in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I am house hunting and doing so rather desperately because the days are speeding on, and by no means would I like to be out in the cold harsh winter. I tell everyone I know, and place adverts in the supermarket, on the websites, you name it. Everyone knows I need a place to stay. A quick response comes in from a man who has read my advert on a site for English speakers in Amsterdam. He writes me a wonderful e-mail, he is a Russian engineer working in London, and has a one-room apartment here in Amsterdam that would be ‘just-right’ for me. The price blows me away; 1000 Euros is way above my budget. I carefully pen down a response that I cannot afford it but if he has alternative accommodation, I can pay for half the amount he has asked for. I add on my number as he has requested it.

Lo and behold the gentleman calls me the next day, “Have you seen the pictures?” is the opening question.

“Um, no, I haven’t, I have to get to the office,” is my response.

“You don’t have internet at home?” he asks sounding perplexed.

Feeling a little bit ashamed yet not daring to lie, I respond, “No, I don’t.”

He continues on and on, about the apartment. He can give it to me at the amount I can afford; all he wants is someone to take care of it.

“You see, my wife and child died, so the garden is in their memory,” he says, “It’s really not about the money, my contract is 1 year here in London, so I really need someone to be there in Amsterdam, and take care of the garden and house as I have already paid for it.”

“I can take care of your garden,” I respond trying not to sound very enthusiastic.

He asks me to call him as soon as I have seen the pictures.

The pictures of the house are beautiful; it really is a dream home.

I call back and say I’d like to take the apartment immediately, when can we meet?

That’s not a problem,” he responds. “I can ask my contact person in Amsterdam to hand over the keys, and you can send the money here, as I cannot come now to Amsterdam, I have just begun a new job-contract and I cannot leave until after six months from now.”

“Very well,” I reply, and hung up the phone, doing a little happy jig.

Somehow, I am not completely at rest. Is this an answer to my prayers? I don’t feel it in my inmost being. People say that you should always listen to your inner voice, the instinct or gut-feeling. Well, my gut is not feeling with this apartment, and eventually my communication with the Russian guy goes about in circles. He states that his contact person is on vacation right now, can I send the money for him to send me a set of spare keys? The next day, he’s talking about his wife; I think okay, his wife is alive now? Into the week he expresses his worry about the keys getting lost in the mail. At the end of the day, my dream house was really, “in my dreams!” A deal that was too good to be true. We always have to think twice. It doesn’t only apply to conmen, it may be a relationship where someone is promising the world, and failing to deliver, it may be a business partnership, whatever the case, Think twice!

I hope someone has learned something, I just did!

Carol.

Would You Play a Game of Russian Roulette?

Mwangi — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 17:04:15 +0000

Hello people,

My name is Caroline Achieng Otieno, and I am a guest blogger at the Displaced African, and a regular contributor to The African Bulletin – www.mediablackberry.com. Having lived in the Netherlands for the past seven years, and experiencing the good, the bad and the ugly, I must say that I have observed a lot going on in Europe. I feel sad for the many Africans, who escape war and other tragic situations, come into Europe through very difficult means (some even trekking the desert through Northern Africa) and when they get here, they face other hurdles in trying to build an existence for themselves and their families back home. What hurts the most is that the system set in place makes our African sisters do things they would not ordinarily do, just because of their legal status or the lack of it thereof. The following article is another version of the article I wrote for African Bulletin in the April issue, feedback is welcome…

Supposing you were in Russia, it’s war-time, early 20^th century. You are an aristocrat soldier and you are with your soldier friends. Feeling the loss of your status, money, family and country; you play a lethal game, perhaps to display bravado, perhaps you want to commit suicide. You spin the cylinder of a revolver so that the location of the cartridge is not known. You point the revolver to your head and pull the trigger. Bang! Well, probably you live, and unharmed and admired you walk away, or you die, and that’s the end, it’s final.

While many Africans living in Europe would not dare play the game of Russian roulette, no matter how much money they were offered, many are caught up in a riskier form of a similar game. There are few chances here; it is a ‘no-win’ situation. Young undocumented Africans, eking out a living in the big cities of Europe, find themselves alone in a foreign land. Many gamble with high risk sex, playing a game of ‘Russian roulette’ as it were. For the young African woman especially, illegality is a challenge. She is placed in a very vulnerable position. She may view being undocumented as having ‘no rights, no shelter, no access to medical care, no money, no food, no peace.’ If she is not well informed or protected, she falls into the trap of selling her body. In the big European cities, female migrants are caught up in a fast growing endemic of promiscuity, for no other reason than being illegal. On one hand, these may be women who are fleeing dangerous situations in their countries, where men have raped women as a weapon of war. Others have undergone traumatic and often brutal genital mutilations. Yet when these same women arrive in Europe, only to find their applications to stay in the country rejected, and out on the streets, the harsh reality begins to set in and sex becomes a strategy for survival.

Research done by SOA-Aids Netherlands in October 2006 among the heterosexual Black community, established that sex was used as a ‘salient exchange commodity’ by women. Men gave them money, and women in return took care of all their needs. When money begins to flow and the women are past survival, they find themselves at a point of no return and trapped in a life on the fast lane. Free-lance writer Zack Bigalke from Portland, Oregon writes, “Women, smarter than ever, have learned that their bodies are money-generating machines which can easily draw much larger pay-checks than most other jobs.” And that is the main problem, sex does sell, and many African migrant women get addicted to the business of having myriads of sexual partners.

There’s a mysterious pull to hang in there.

Probably it’s the bad company, or the lack of social skills, or the low-level of education coupled with the rush to make big bucks quick. Friends encourage some to join them, stating the fact that money comes easy in the business. Ultimately, there’s the attraction of the ‘invincible’ Euro, the demands of relatives back home, and the desire to mirror the lifestyles, the dress and the mannerisms of the of the characters played out by the beautiful West African actresses of Nollywood; keeping up with the latest designer fashions, smelling like a queen, and owning the latest gizmos at the drop of a hat.

There are risks involved, the risk of pregnancy and the greatest risk of all, that of catching a Sexually Transmitted Infection (S.T.I).

Let’s admit it, most men initiate and control sex, paying for it with their greater wealth.

However many women bear the burden of the consequences of sex. Due to the fact that a woman’s body is well structured to receive, a woman is eight times more likely to become infected from a single sexual act with an infected man than a man is likely to become infected from a single sexual act with an infected woman.

Not only is the likelihood for infection for women greater, but also infection can be present in and spread by them when they do not have any symptoms of the disease. The disease becomes a silent killer.

A breakdown of the most common S.T.I’s follows:

Gonorrhoea is one of the oldest known S.T.I’s. However, like the condition Chlamydia, most women who are infected by the disease frequently have no symptoms of it, especially in the early stages. Both of these diseases, left untreated destroy the Fallopian tubes and cause Pelvic Inflammatory Disease (P.I.D). This can lead to ectopic pregnancies or infertility. Another well-known S.T.I is Syphilis. It operates in stages, which can be in gaps over a period of many years. The last stage of Syphilis is most fatal. It can cause problems throughout the human body such as heart abnormalities; brain malfunctions leading to stroke, meningitis, deafness or blindness. The Human Papillomavirus (HPV), another S.T.I has long been known to be a cause of cervical cancer. Infection with the Human Immunodeficiency virus (HIV) weakens the body’s immune system and increases vulnerability to many different infections. HIV at its’ final stage is referred to as Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome or AIDS, when full-blown, many infections overwhelm the body and this results to death. Treatment options exist for HIV-infected people that reduce the multiplication of the virus in their bodies thus delaying the progress of the disease to the final stage, which causes death.

Solutions are quickly needed.

Condoms may be useful in decreasing the spread of infections such as Chlamydia and Gonorrhoea, but should be noted that they do not fully protect against infections such as genital herpes, HPV, syphilis and AIDS. Public awareness and education about STI’s and methods of preventing them is imperative.

African migrant women should be empowered and educated about their sexual health and reproductive rights. There is the need to practise good social skills that include the ability to negotiate safe sex, a better understanding on the working of their bodies and the risks of a promiscuous lifestyle.

Global agencies, international policy makers, African leaders and civil societies should push to make education for the Girl-Child in Africa free at all levels; such an action would encourage society in Africa to send their female children to school. Migrant churches and faith-based organizations in Europe need to address sexuality and behaviour change among both men and women.

It is my prayer that the article has helped someone in some way or another,

Blessings,

Carol.

Something That Happens to A Lot of Newbie Immigrants That’s Almost Never Discussed

Mwangi — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 04:02:46 +0000

I get the strange feeling I have written this article before: if I have, apologies but recent discussions I have had have added some greater depth to this topic area.

Growing up I have always had this sense that I was pretty alright. Even in my lowest emotional points, my self-esteem and honest belief that I had the potential to get out of it and surpass it has always been in tact.

This combined with my rather idiosyncratic personality and interests has resulted in many of my peers and superiors classifying me as shall we say, arrogant.

Now There are 3 Potential Reasons People Might Say That

1) Because people think I really shouldn’t be that confident about things so different from what they are confident about (after all, humility is not exactly a mark of the African personality so it can’t be a pure aversion to over-confidence)

2) I might actually be a little too confident and up my own posterior.

3) Reasons that I don’t know or understand

This is the story of how I realized that my self-confidence doesn’t really mean squat. Just because I think I’m worth something doesn’t mean other people are obligated to do so.

This is also the story of how this may happen to you when you immigrate overseas. Or if you are already here in the diaspora, this might be a story you have already experienced or heard about.

From Hero to Zero to Hero to Zero

I have told the story of how I came to Australia with a head big enough to fit its own Milky Way and how I went from the coolest new accessory in the country to about as desirable as a rash in the middle of the night.

But Here’s the Thing

As I was talking to people over the course of this week I realized: it has happened to other people too. Now give me a “Hell yeah!” if this has ever happened to you.

The Story

1) You arrive in a new country

2) You enter a new school, new place of worship, new sports group or any new social group within your host country.

3) That first week/month you make a bunch of new friends and you make great connections. You may even get telephone numbers and begin making plans for the future.

4) You are happy that you are in a new country and you are thankful that folks are so friendly.

When the Doody Hits the Fan

5) Might be your second week/month, third week/month or much later but it begins when you are passing one of your new friends in the hall.

You say, “Hi”

They say……………….NOTHING! They just pass you in the hall as though they never met you.

6) At this point you may get a little confused. This doesn’t happen to you. Where you’re from, when people were acquantances or friends, they at the very least acknowledge each other.

Rinse and Repeat

7) And then you get ignored again and again and again.
Before you realize it, you have lost most if not all of the new friends you made.

9) No one ever wrote the manual on how to handle the situation like this and so as much as you might try to feel otherwise you feel one, or a combination of the feelings below:

a) Worthless and not special at all.

b) Confused

c) Angry and spiteful at the people who have rejected you

d) Very very very alone.

If You Have Ever Gone Through This

Or know someone who has, feel free to leave a comment below and tell me all about it and tell me how you got over it.

If You are About to Immigrate Overseas

Especially Australia, be aware that this might happen to you. It doesn’t always happen, but from time to time this does happen. It has happened to me and this week, I met two other people who it has happened to.

So don’t be shocked, don’t be scared, don’t be confused, you are not alone, there are other folks who have gone through it two.

Immigrant Survivor Guide Newsletter

I have some tips for handling that situation in my free email newsletter: the Immigrant Survivor Guide Newsletter which you can sign up for by putting your first name and email address into the boxes below.

I Hate Spam, So I Won’t Share Your Email With Anyone.

Hope I have helped articulate some things that some of y’all have felt for a long time but have never had articulated.

For Some Added Depth

Check out the guest post that gal africana did where she added some flavour to this topic.

Be blessed and bless others,

Mwangi

Why Do Our Accents Change When We Immigrate Abroad?

Mwangi — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 17:04:24 +0000

Today let’s talk about a little something that we all see or do when we go abroad.

The Change of Accent

This “art form” goes by many different names:

a) Wenging or wanging

b) Butchering/murdering the English language

c) Pretending/ Being fake

d) Becoming “bougei like that”

But why does is it that the way in which we pronounce words all of a sudden changes when we move to a foreign nation?

Mwangi’s Theory

The reasons I think it happens, which have probably been discussed heavily in private conversation, are:

1) Marketing

2) Inferiority complex.

Inferiority Complex

Very few Africans are in doubt that many of us do have inferiority complexes when it comes to white people and Westerners.

Sure, it varies in degree, character and expression but a lot of us kinda know that its there.

However, there are those of us who still vehemently hold on to the belief that Africans do not think of themselves in any way shape or form as inferior to our Anglo-Saxon, Scandinavian, Western and other cousins in this human race.

To prove my point, journey with me as I go through a mental exercise. Let’s call it, “Why doesn’t……”

Why Doesn’t……

Our accent change when we go to:

1) Other African countries

2) Meet with people from other tribes in Africa

Seriously, some of us can spend our time around other African people from other countries all our lives and our accent will never change.

By Comparison

I actually have a friend who the moment they landed here, immediately abandoned Kiswahili (why do people call it Swahili, it’s Kiswahili, folks, Ki-swahili) and her native tongue and until this day spends most of her time butchering the English language, check out the silly audio below for an imitation of “her linguistic skills”.

On the other side, people close to me have considered taking lessons with an expert on how to adapt their accent to the what I lovingly call, the Down Under Drawl.

I will move into the second point, marketing, by continuing with the game of

Why Doesn’t, Part two

Why doesn’t our accent change when we go to:

1) India

2) Oriental Asia

I have met quite a few people who went to study in India and none of their accents changed a lick. I have met other folks who have studied in Malaysia, and nothing.

Give me 6 years here and all of a sudden I sound like a hybrid between Patrice Lumuba, Emily from friends, Kofi Kingston, the All blacks, Steve Irwin, Mtukudzi and Wainaina.

The Marketing Stereotypes

It’s all because other groups have been marketed as cool (Acolyte, I am aware these are stereotypes, but note how these stereotypes are indeed used to push products and TV shows out there):

1) Americans market themselves as the loveable, uber-committed, individualistic cowboys and rogues

2) The Brits are posh

3) The Aussies are laid back and charming

4) The French are romantic

5) The Spanish are lovers

As to the Indian accent, I’ll let Russell Peters talk about that one (NB: There is some swearing in this video clip) :

And so on and so on and so on. Combine that with the Western entitlement syndrome, which even we buy into and it results in us believing that Anglo-Saxons and Scandinavians are the superior human product that we should model in order to become better people.

My Take On It

And with that, you have my take on why our accents switch gears when we land overseas.
To hear more insights on this immigrant life, make sure you sign up to receive free regular updates via either email or RSS.

Finally: A Silly Spot of Fun

If you are not a fan of silliness as I am, skip this and leave a comment below. As I was writing the article, I got the idea to record this. Lovers of folly enjoy (Keep the volume on a mid setting because the volume fluctuates)

Question:Why do YOU think our accent changes?

Mwangi

Every Immigrant Has A Story Like This

Mwangi — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 18:03:17 +0000

I wrote this piece a while back and submitted it to one of the big blogs in the African blogosphere in the hopes of being published as a guest author. But alas, I felt the sting of rejection On the bright side, this piece gets published anyway ….and since there are a whole bunch of you new readers, I would like to welcome you with a tale of one of my experiences from my early days of Australian life. If you enjoy the peace, make sure you leave a comment with a little anecdote of your own.

Five weary travellers rested their behinds on the isn’t-this-a-four-star-restaurant-why-are-they-giving-us-two-star seats. It had been a tiring, but exciting day. The travellers hailed from the land known as Africa (Cradle of civilization since the dawn of time, thank you very much). They had thoroughly enjoyed their day spent walking around, gawking and poking at these weird human beings known as Australians.

Weird creatures they were. Instead of speaking with their mouth like normal people, their words seemed to come from the end of the throat. They claimed to speak the language made famous by the Queen, but for some weird reason everything that came out of their mouth sounded like

“Robo, Yobo, Yeeennooouuuu mate!”

“Mate!”

That was the only word they had heard all day and they liked it:

“Mate!”

So as their backsides rested upon the varnished wood seats and they stared in bewilderment at the excess of spoons on the table (aren’t soup and food are eaten with the same spoon?..you must transfer flavour man) a “mate” of theirs came.

“Hello mate!” They all crooned like an out of tune choir

“Hello!” chirped a bright eyed, black haired girl. She looked like an Amber, so let’s call her, “like so totally Amber, Oh my God!”

Hmmm, the Africans knew they needed time to balance out their need to eat with their need to save as much money as possible. So they decided in the interim that image really was nothing and thirst was everything.

The matriarch of the group, confident as an MP declaring on national television that he will beat up his colleague, stepped up to be the first to speak to future cheerleader, Amber.

“I would like some juice!”

Amber stopped stunned! I would say she looked like a deer in the headlights but in truth she looked like the deer after being hit by a car as it flew through the air wondering what just happened.

“What?”

“Oh sorry, I want some juice!”

Amber’s eyes rolled into the back of her head looking for some form of truth in the woman’s words but came up short. Amber decided it was time to try and speak to this weird African woman:

“Did you say you want grease?”

“Juice!”

“Feet?”

“Juice!”

“Jebeet!”

“Dear Lord!” Exclaimed the woman and in her native tongue tried to calm her family, “Don’t worry, this woman is a retard. We need to speak to her in sign language.”

And so in that moment, the family engaged in their first ever miming group performance: They lifted their hands to their mouths. End of act 1. They opened their mouths. End of Act 2 With the smoothness of an impotent Marlboro man, they concluded the act by motioning for drinks to enter their mouths.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Ya kukunywa! Ya kunyua!Drinking! Sippy! Sippy!” They all said in an effort to get a message through to the mentally challenged girl.

Finally, success. Her eyes glowed with the magnificence of an ember of fire that was just about to die but had just sparked back to life in its final moments.

“OOOOOOOOhhhhh”

“Oooooohhhhh,” the family said, thinking it was a round song.

“You want Juuuuuusssss!”

Everyone in the family restrained their urge to speak. They saw just what the matriach was talking about: poor girl, I wonder how they allow her to work with such a debilitating condition. She couldn’t even pronounce basic words.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” They all nodded in Unison.

And five minutes later, the lady brought some Juuuuuusss.

And with that ended the drama that was their fast day in this fresh new land. That episode quickly and easily made way for the drama that was still to come. Good times!

If you liked what you just read and want to read some more, make sure you stay subscribed to receive updates via either email or RSS.

The Afropolitan in You

Mwangi — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:04:52 +0000

Hello,

You know this article applies almost exactly to me. Though at present I am not a very big fan of esoteric or linguistically complex and philosophical pieces of writing, i.e. I like to dumb things down and like people who do the same, I can’t deny that this piece is introducing an idea that’s definitely one that’s worth thinking about and exploring through more pieces of writing, books, films etc. People like us African immigrants are an entirely unique entity unto ourselves and its time we began talking about our Afropolitan nature. Enjoy!

NB: I have quoted text from this blog post verbatim

What exactly is an “Afropolitan”?

Taiye Tuakli-Wosornu’s piece, pretty much inspired the very creation of this blog.

Bye-Bye Babar

by Taiye Tuakli-Wosornu

It’s moments to midnight on Thursday night at Medicine Bar in London. Zak,
boy-genius DJ, is spinning a Fela Kuti remix. The little downstairs
dancefloor swells with smiling, sweating men and women fusing hip-hop
dance moves with a funky sort of djembe. The women show off enormous
afros, tiny t-shirts, gaps in teeth; the men those incredible torsos
unique to and common on African coastlines. The whole scene speaks of
the Cultural Hybrid: kente cloth worn over low-waisted jeans; ‘African
Lady’ over Ludacris bass lines; London meets Lagos meets Durban meets
Dakar. Even the DJ is an ethnic fusion: Nigerian and Romanian; fair,
fearless leader; bobbing his head as the crowd reacts to a sample of
‘Sweet Mother’.

Were you to ask any of these beautiful, brown-skinned people that
basic question – ‘where are you from?’ – you’d get no single answer
from a single smiling dancer. This one lives in London but was raised
in Toronto and born in Accra; that one works in Lagos but grew up in
Houston, Texas. ‘Home’ for this lot is many things: where their parents
are from; where they go for vacation; where they went to school; where
they see old friends; where they live (or live this year). Like so many
African young people working and living in cities around the globe,
they belong to no single geography, but feel at home in many.

They (read: we) are Afropolitans – the newest generation of African
emigrants, coming soon or collected already at a law firm/chem lab/jazz
lounge near you. You’ll know us by our funny blend of London fashion,
New York jargon, African ethics, and academic successes. Some of us are
ethnic mixes, e.g. Ghanaian and Canadian, Nigerian and Swiss; others
merely cultural mutts: American accent, European affect, African ethos.
Most of us are multilingual: in addition to English and a Romantic or
two, we understand some indigenous tongue and speak a few urban
vernaculars. There is at least one place on The African Continent to
which we tie our sense of self: be it a nation-state (Ethiopia), a city
(Ibadan), or an auntie’s kitchen. Then there’s the G8 city or two (or
three) that we know like the backs of our hands, and the various
institutions that know us for our famed focus. We are Afropolitans: not
citizens, but Africans of the world.

It isn’t hard to trace our genealogy. Starting in the 60’s, the
young, gifted and broke left Africa in pursuit of higher education and
happiness abroad. A study conducted in 1999 estimated that between 1960
and 1975 around 27,000 highly skilled Africans left the Continent for
the West. Between 1975 and 1984, the number shot to 40,000 and then
doubled again by 1987, representing about 30% of Africa’s highly
skilled manpower. Unsurprisingly, the most popular destinations for
these emigrants included Canada, Britain, and the United States; but
Cold War politics produced unlikely scholarship opportunities in
Eastern Bloc countries like Poland, as well.

Some three decades later this scattered tribe of pharmacists,
physicists, physicians (and the odd polygamist) has set up camp around
the globe. The caricatures are familiar. The Nigerian physics professor
with faux-Coogi sweater; the Kenyan marathonist with long legs and
rolled r’s; the heavyset Gambian braiding hair in a house that smells
of burnt Kanekalon. Even those unacquainted with synthetic extensions
can conjure an image of the African immigrant with only the slightest
of pop culture promptings: Eddie Murphy’s ‘Hello, Barbar.’ But
somewhere between the 1988 release of Coming to America and the 2001
crowning of a Nigerian Miss World, the general image of young Africans
in the West transmorphed from goofy to gorgeous. Leaving off the
painful question of cultural condescenscion in that beloved film, one
wonders what happened in the years between Prince Akeem and Queen
Agbani?

One answer is: adolescence. The Africans that left Africa between
1960 and 1975 had children, and most overseas. Some of us were bred on
African shores then shipped to the West for higher education; others
born in much colder climates and sent home for cultural
re-indoctrination. Either way, we spent the 80’s chasing after
accolades, eating fufu at family parties, and listening to adults argue
politics. By the turn of the century (the recent one), we were matching
our parents in number of degrees, and/or achieving things our ‘people’
in the grand sense only dreamed of. This new demographic – dispersed
across Brixton, Bethesda, Boston, Berlin – has come of age in the 21st
century, redefining what it means to be African. Where our parents
sought safety in traditional professions like doctoring, lawyering,
banking, engineering, we are branching into fields like media,
politics, music, venture capital, design. Nor are we shy about
expressing our African influences (such as they are) in our work.
Artists such as Keziah Jones, Trace founder and editor Claude
Gruzintsky, architect David Adjaye, novelist Chimamanda Achidie – all
exemplify what Gruzintsky calls the ’21st century African.’

What distinguishes this lot and its like (in the West and at home) is a
willingness to complicate Africa – namely, to engage with, critique,
and celebrate the parts of Africa that mean most to them. Perhaps what
most typifies the Afropolitan consciousness is the refusal to
oversimplify; the effort to understand what is ailing in Africa
alongside the desire to honor what is wonderful, unique. Rather than
essentialising the geographical entity, we seek to comprehend the
cultural complexity; to honor the intellectual and spiritual legacy;
and to sustain our parents’ cultures.

For us, being African must mean something. The media’s portrayals
(war, hunger) won’t do. Neither will the New World trope of bumbling,
blue-black doctor. Most of us grew up aware of ‘being from’ a blighted
place, of having last names from to countries which are linked to lack,
corruption. Few of us escaped those nasty ‘booty-scratcher’ epithets,
and fewer still that sense of shame when visting paternal villages.
Whether we were ashamed of ourselves for not knowing more about our
parents’ culture, or ashamed of that culture for not being more
‘advanced’ can be unclear. What is manifest is the extent to which the
modern adolescent African is tasked to forge a sense of self from
wildly disparate sources. You’d never know it looking at those dapper
lawyers in global firms, but most were once supremely self-conscious of
being so ‘in between’. Brown-skinned without a bedrock sense of
‘blackness,’ on the one hand; and often teased by African family
members for ‘acting white’ on the other – the baby-Afropolitan can get
what I call ‘lost in transnation’.

Ultimately, the Afropolitan must form an identity along at least
three dimensions: national, racial, cultural – with subtle tensions in
between. While our parents can claim one country as home, we must
define our relationship to the places we live; how British or American
we are (or act) is in part a matter of affect. Often unconsciously, and
over time, we choose which bits of a national identity (from passport
to pronunciation) we internalize as central to our personalities. So,
too, the way we see our race – whether black or biracial or none of the
above – is a question of politics, rather than pigment; not all of us
claim to be black. Often this relates to the way we were raised,
whether proximate to other brown people (e.g. black Americans) or
removed. Finally, how we conceive of race will accord with where we
locate ourselves in the history that produced ‘blackness’ and the
political processes that continue to shape it.

Then there is that deep abyss of Culture, ill-defined at best. One
must decide what comprises ‘African culture’ beyond pepper soup and
filial piety. The project can be utterly baffling – whether one lives
in an African country or not. But the process is enriching, in that it
expands one’s basic perspective on nation and selfhood. If nothing
else, the Afropolitan knows that nothing is neatly black or white; that
to ‘be’ anything is a matter of being sure of who you are uniquely. To
‘be’ Nigerian is to belong to a passionate nation; to be Yoruba, to be
heir to a spiritual depth; to be American, to ascribe to a cultural
breadth; to be British, to pass customs quickly. That is, this is what
it means for me – and that is the Afropolitan privilege. The acceptance
of complexity common to most African cultures is not lost on her
prodigals. Without that intrinsically multi-dimensional thinking, we
could not make sense of ourselves.

And if it all sounds a little self-congratulatory, a little
‘aren’t-we-the-coolest-damn-people-on-earth?’ – I say: yes it is,
necessarily. It is high time the African stood up. There is nothing
perfect in this formulation; for all our Adjayes and Achidies, there is
a brain drain back home. Most Afropolitans could serve Africa better in
Africa than at Medicine Bar on Thursdays. To be fair, a fair number of
African professionals are returning; and there is consciousness among
the ones who remain, an acute awareness among this brood of
too-cool-for-schools that there’s work to be done. There are those
among us who wonder to the point of weeping: where next, Africa? When
will the scattered tribes return? When will the talent repatriate? What
lifestyles await young professionals at home? How to invest in Africa’s
future? The prospects can seem grim at times. The answers aren’t
forthcoming. But if there was ever a group who could figure it out, it
is this one, unafraid of the questions.

To hear more from the Afropolitan blogger known as Mwangi, make sure you stay subscribed to the Displaced African via RSS or email.

Guest Post: Seinlife from Seinlife

Mwangi — Thu, 01 May 2008 18:03:19 +0000

Introduction

5 Mistakes to Avoid as a Foreign Student in the US

1. Working without employment authorization invalidates your status rendering you illegally present in the US. As a student you are eligible to work 20hrs a week during the school year and full time during summer break. Exceptions are made for student who face economic hardships that change their financial situation after enrollment e.g death of sponsor. These students can apply for employment authorization through their schools international student office.

2. Droping out of school has the same effect as no. 1 above. The typical reason for droping out of school is lack of adequated fees. This can be remedied by negotiating with the school on how you will pay for your schooling. Some schools will facilitate a payment plan that will allow you to pay for your fees in installments. Seek out grants and scholarship even if they might only partially pay – better something than nothing! If you have to drop out then make sure you return within 5mths when USCIS is more likely to consider reinstating your student status.

3. Failing to maintain lawful status has huge repercussions that include:
- If you intend to apply for a green card in the future, there will be a possibility it will be denied if you have ever been out of status. There used to be an exception, 245(i), that allowed applicants to pay a fine to have this err overlooked but that was terminated in 2001.
- Jeopardising your approval for the year of practical training you are entitled to after school.
- If you end up having deportation proceedings brought up against you and they succeed, then you will be denied entry into the US for 3yrs or 10 yrs depending on how long you were out of status.

4. Partying too hard is not the reason you are in the US, school is, so simmer down. There is absolutely nothing wrong with partying but just like anything else, you do it too much and it has a domino effect. Too much partying leads to slacking in school, slacking in school means bad grades and potentially being kicked out. Go ahead party but keep it to a minimum and concentrate on what brought you here in the first place. If you can do both equally hard then carry on!

5. Drinking and driving do not go hand-in-hand so cease and desist from ever getting behind the wheel when you have consumed any amount of alcohol. This behavior will most certainly land you in jail and a foreign student with a record is a sure way to shoot yourself in the foot!

Seinlife,

From Seinlife

If you want to know more about the mistakes to avoid when you immigrate abroad make sure you keep in the know by receiving emails or RSS notifications whenever new posts are written.