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

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

Before I Get to the Main Attraction

1) For some reason, the sidebar of the website isn’t working as it should, i.e. on the homepage, it isn’t there, it drops all the way to the bottom of the article. I am aware of the problem and am on it and thanks for patience dealing with that.

2) I am going to be interviewed on Capital FM next week and for any of you who are fans of SARFMRADIO in New York, they called me and asked for an interview too, so look out for me on that too. Yay! Too too blessed.

Back to the Script

As I spoke about a few days ago, the Displaced African (tDA) was talked about on one of the largest radio station’s in Kenya, Capital FM, during their show, Urban Nites. Thanks to everyone who showed much love and to those of you who asked for a recording here it is:

The Displaced African on Urban Nites

There are some areas where there is brief silence and brief music, that’s just to give the track some breathing room before the talking starts, once you press play there is no need to forward for the entire duration of the track.

Some Thoughts

The folks at Capital did me a huge service not only because they put me on the air, but because they:

a) Made the website sound much bigger than even I thought it was, which now gives me super morale to keep moving and growing to expand and beat these expectations.

b) They gave me a lot of ideas for articles that need to be written.

c) They reminded me what this blog is all about, which I sometimes forget.

To stay a part of the tDA as it continues to grow, make sure you stay up to date via either free email or RSS updates. To learn just what RSS is, click here.

Be blessed and bless others,

Mwas

Hey,

Just received the email about 15 minutes ago. In about three hours- on Tuesday 1st July 2008 at 3 a.m. (GMT +3h)- I am going to be on the show Urban Nites on Capital FM in Nairobi, Kenya.

Capital FM, for those who don’t know, is one of the largest radio stations in Kenya.

So please:

1) Listen in

2) Show your support

3) Say a silent “Yay!” with me and

4) Say wassup and thanks to Linda of Capital FM for showing the website some love: Cheers for that

To listen to Capital FM live on the Internet click here

Today let’s take a look at how the pursuit of the dollar has humbled us.

Let’s not discuss it at the abstract or conceptual level: let’s make it real by sharing some stories.

Below are two stories from my days as an aged care nurse/hospital wardsman/general cleaner and gardener/disability care person.

Before We Begin

It should be noted that I never entered the Aged Care field with any airs or feeling of snobbery. I didn’t have any interest in the job and didn’t really want to do it initially but once I got in, I loved being with old folks, especially because their old age (and in some cases) dementia made them so real, non pretentious and friendly.

I never ever made the declaration that I was above other people’s bodily fluids or anything like that: I accepted it as part and parcel of the job before I got in. The reason I got out: because I don’t really have a passion for the industry AND I am a pretty bad nurse (and I like to imagine, a much better writer and thinker )

Some scatological humor coming your way. Don’t read this within the physical or psychological vicinity of food, anyone squeamish or uncool.

Story Number One: My Friend’s First Day

The nurse had done this many times before and knew exactly what to do. Grab the old feeble person lying on the bed. Roll them over so that they were facing them and their back was to the newbie nurse sent by the agency. Pull of the diaper pad. Grab a face washer and……….pass it to the agency nurse: No need doing the grunt work when there was an agency nurse around.

Nine point five times out of ten, the agency nurse would gladly grab that face washer and wipe that bum clean as though it were La Mancha and he was hunting for some gold. But not this day my friends and not this African. The African contorted his countenance into a look of pure surprise:

“Excuse me?” he said as he stared at the food that escaped the decaying old man.

“I don’t have all day, grab the face washer and give his bum a wash!”

Would this be the day? Would this be the moment? Would he now officially become a member of the ABC: the Australian Bum Cleaning Association?

Alas friends, today was not to be the day. For you see, our protagonist had the perfect excuse:

“I can’t do it, I’m new here!”

Now a second countenance contorted into pure confusion:

“What do you mean your new? This isn’t rocket science. Grab the towel. Dip it in the water there, wipe of all the sh………”

Shhhhhhhhh, he lost our protagonist at shhhhhhhhhhh

“I am new here! Please do it and show me how!”

And with that the young man put off the inevitability of joining the ABC. Too bad, the person whose bum he wiped to join had a much nastier treasured buried in that there diaper.

Story Number Two: Will Mwangi Find Love?

“Thank God it’s Friday night and I juuuuusssttt got paid!”

That song kept playing in my mind over and over and over and over again. A few minutes until the shift ends and then women had better watch out, there was a young aged care nurse on the prowl, and I was loaded with sanitary gloves . Sure I didn’t have much. But where money was lacking, I more than made up in testosterone and enthusiasm.

With me being in such an expectant and chirpy mood, I basically floated into the room that belonged to “the Lady” in the final minutes of the shift.

Unfortunately, the Lady had busted her nose and I was there to clean up the blood while she lay there in bed. For some reason that I can’t quite fathom, I forgot to turn on the lights as I walked into her room and the only light that showed was a tiny sliver of flourescent light from the hallway. That flourescence formed a perfect line from the hall all the way to the head of the bed where she lay and where I stood with a towel in my hand and ready to hold my jaw in the other. Let the soap opera begin.

She was smiling at me a little too much. Then again I was a young man in a nursing home, this happened quite a bit and I was used to it. I gently caressed (that must have been what she thought) her face with that face washer until all the blood was off.

I dropped the face washer back into the bucket of water and began to bounce my way out when I heard a gentle whisper:

“Heeeyy,”

I could say that I did an elegant swivel back to face her as Ridge would to Brook in the Bold and the Beautiful, but at that moment I looked like the black guy in the movie who had just heard the sound which everyone in the movie knows will kill him. I turned round: oh oh

“Come here,” the senior lady of the lake (if you get this reference, I’m so sorry) purred

I came to her side like a good nurse would:

“What’s up?”

“Just one?”

“Just one what?”

“Just one KISS!”

I looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Say what?”

“Come on, just one, just one little kiss!”

I did what any compassionate loving human being would do….I began to cackle!

“You’re bad for me you know that?”

“Come on,” she continued like a siren upon the rocks on a Scottish shore.

I slowly began to back away cackling and unable to believe that this was happening. Finally I left her with a kiss in the wind which was delivered from my lips to her cheek via a blow from my right hand. I had to give the people what they want . Now to repeat that process with a twenty year old……………

To hear more stories like this, make sure you subscribe to this site via RSS or email to receive regular updates.

]]> http://www.thedisplacedafrican.com/2008/06/2-funny-stories-from-my-days-as-an-aged-care-nurse/feed/ 0 http://www.thedisplacedafrican.com/2008/06/7-unique-things-learned-while-in-australia/ http://www.thedisplacedafrican.com/2008/06/7-unique-things-learned-while-in-australia/#comments Sun, 22 Jun 2008 16:05:21 +0000 Mwangi http://www.thedisplacedafrican.com/?p=414

Having been an Afropolitan in Australia for close to 6 years, 6 year anniversary on 31st June, I have had the privilege of experiencing two nations with two very different cultures up close and personal. Today I thought I would talk about 7 unique things I’ve picked up, observed and learned from the natives-well-not-really-but-rather-the-majority-population of this land called Australia.

1) Courtesy

Before I showed up “please” and “thank you” were myths from medieval times. You only held the door when someone had boxes of your stuff and giving people room to pass on the road was for suckers who didn’t want to get to work on time.

Australians, by default, are the most polite people I have ever met in my life. Now, I have basis for comparison: I have been to every continent except South America. So I can tell you, folks get way ruder than people from Australia.

Here folks are taught from very early how to say please and thank you. It’s not uncommon for them stop what they’re doing and help folks with directions or guidance. On many occasions, we have actually had people who were passing us on foot or by car, stop, double back and come help us because we looked so lost. I mean even the criminals and alleged “riff raff” of society are pretty courteous. In short, when I say Aussies are nice people, it’s not hyperbole or optimism, it’s my experience.

2) Hardcore binge drinking

Whoever says Africans are the heaviest drinkers is clearly drunk on something else. You see, when Africans drink, a lot of the time it’s to relieve stress or as part of something social ( I wrote an article on this one a while back if you are interested). But no no no no, a lot of Australians drink for entirely different reason.s

A huge chunk of Australians drink with two simple goals: get hammered and pass out.

Now, the fact that passing out could actually be a goal behind drinking was a shocker to me when I first learned about it. And to be clear, Australia is not a particularly church going nation (93% of folks are not regular) and so binge drinking is part of the culture from the ages of 10 – 100, from the “goody two shoes” all the way to “the bad boys”. These folks showed me that Africans are really very conservative in a lot of ways, including drinking.

3) Nerds and Jocks Stereotypes are Way Off

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Skip this section if you have outgrown caring about high school politics (Do we ever really do this?)

As a result of being about as popular as SNM at a church bakesale (if this reference passes over your head, don’t worry, I was in some zone when I wrote it) a lot of my high school career, together with moments of extreme popularity, I had the good pleasure of spending time with that the TV shows would call “the loveable nerds” as well as “the big dumb jocks”.

Let me tell you now ladies and gentlemen, if you see a jock on one side and a nerd on the other…..RUN to the jock, hug him and never let go.

But Why?

But why, Mwangi, you might ask, would I ever want to abandon the nice, loveable nerd in favour of the big dumb brutish jock. First of all, I was in school with a lot of footy players and one of them even ended up on the national league and they are truly good people. Laid back, very open and welcoming. Sure they like being naked with each other waaaayyyy too much and a lot of their pranks and humour is weird, but they showed me love for the most part so I must reciprocate.

Understanding the Nerd

Now nerds are an entirely different kettle of fish. Now I want you to get a clear picture of a nerd in a Western country. This place is on information overload 24/7. Everyday through the Internet you have access to all sorts of quirky facts, figures, videos, beliefs and so on and so forth. Now take someone, completely isolate them from people and make them feel lousy and inadequate mix them up with this random information that bombards them 24/7 and you end up with a group of people with very weird beliefs and practices.

Now I know, y’all have heard of 2 girls and a cup. That’s a typical nerd’s dream. They love to watch things like Bum Fights, perform witchcraft, watch and obsess over movies that can give one an imagined sense of power such as Fight Club. In short, dudes are very scary. These folks need a hug. I now understand why stuff like Columbine happens……trust me, those were nerds. Anyway I don’t want to go on about this one for too long because it’s not that important really. Definitely came as a surprise though

4) Races I never knew existed

This place is MULTICULTURAL. I have hung out with Arabs, Indians fresh off the boat, Indians who grew up here (more on Indians later), Asians from all over the continent, Africans from Zimbabwe, Botswana (Lord women from Southern Africa are gorgeous, now I understand…now I understand). We have a plethora of mulatto and half black/half Asian kids. African Americans, Greeks and the list just goes on and on.

It’s opened my eyes man. It makes you realize, first of all that you are this thing called “an African” who is a seperate race with our own seperate struggle and shared culture ( yes, we have a shared culture, like it or not). It also makes you realize how similar we are as people in spite of racial differences.

I always found it easy to relate to minorities here and people from darker ethnic groups such Aboriginals, Maoris, Indians and well, Asians because we felt we had a lot in common being marginalized minorities and all.

Plus, the diversity of beautiful food, women, tastes, music, sights and sounds just makes me happy to be alive sometimes.

5) Blue collar wealth?

Now in Africa, this is an oxymoron. The more “industrial age” the job the worse of the job security, prestige and the pay. The more “knowledge economy” the better the pay,the job security and with each extra dollar you get to buy off a bit more of people’s respect.

One of the first things that amazes every African whenever they land here is the fact that a plumber can earn the same as a lawyer. That tends to send us laughing for hours and hours as we talk about how a man whose most famous for showing us a crack-that-certainly-isn’t-of-dawn earns the same as someone who sweats vocabulary in libraries for years to become a lawyer.

If someone here tells me they want to be a hair stylist, carpenter or electrician, I salute them. As long as you make sure you’re money is working for you via investments, it’s as secure as the job market gets: God speed!

6) Racism is a fluid concept

I wrote an article on this one a while back.

By and large, I don’t believe that Anglo-Saxons innately fear and hate African people. Now a lot of you won’t agree with that, but I base this opinion on two things:

i) My experience of only one or two racial slurs and remarks being thrown at me a year. I can’t even think of one incident that has taken place over the last 12 months that’s been motivated by racial hatred – then again I live in a suburb that looks like it’s part of Asia and don’t get out much, but even from my time in Sydney, can’t think of anything.

ii) If a 78 year old man is pooping into a nappy, has lost all forms of inhibition and some brain cells, and still treats me with love, then there was never any hate to begin with. I worked as an aged care nurse for 2 years and I have spoken with folks who’ve been doing it much longer, racism isn’t something that comes up very often. Scatological humour on the other hand……….

Now, Australians do seem to HATE the people they stole this land from: the Aboriginals. This pretty much came to my attention in my years of high school . On two occasions folks went on a roll spiting out joke after joke to insult the Aboriginal people and by and large people laughed at and enjoyed that. How deep this racism is? What its all about? I’m unclear on. But there’s definitely something there.

Native Australians are also pretty open and HATE anyone who refuses to learn English. You want to drive Australian people mad, walk around like you don’t know a word of English. Wait for the sneers to come.

7) Indians are everywhere

Indians are kinda like those “extra channels” you get when you sign up for Pay TV. You don’t really think about them or know they are there until you stop and think. That’s when you realize, Indians have always been a fixture in my life.

In Kenya, they were part of the ruling class and I lived close to one and a lot of the shops I used to go to were Indian run. Come to the land down under and they are still all over the place. My suburb literally looks like the Asian sub-continent.

For those of you who may not have heard my baby sisters’ opinions on Melbourne, most of the people they either know or hang around are Indian people. If you are Indian and you are reading this:

If you’re plan is global domination, good job! Y’all have positioned yourself well.

And by the way, Sri Lankan women…..mmm…mmmm…..mmmm

To hear more from me as I make my journey through life as an African immigrant, make sure you subscribe to the blog for free via email or RSS.

First of all, if you are an immigrant of high school age and you are reading this welcome. As I often say, I wish this was the blog I wish I had found, or at least something similar, when I first showed up in an Australian high school so anything I can do to make you feel at home let me know.

Compositions

As a lot of you know I grew up in the city in the sun, Nairobi, Kenya. All throughout my primary school days, Stnadard 1 – 8, one thing remained consistent: I was one of the best composition writers. For those who don’t know, compositions are basically short fictional stories which were assessed by the English teacher.

The Rules of Writing Compositions in Kenya

The rules to writing a composition in Kenya were quite simple really:

a) Use language that is as flowery,complex and grandiloquent (but do I say?) as possible.

b) Use metaphors, similies, proverbs and other linguistic tools that show you have read a book or two in your life more than you use regular language.

If you managed to follow the above two rules and piece together a somewhat coherent narrative, you were good to go.

The Story That Got Told Over and Over Again

Towards my final years of primary school, we used to write compositions quite a lot. When it was all said and done however, I realized that I had told the same story over and over and over again.

I was attacked by a crazy/large/robber/stupid man and I somehow had to fight to survive.

In spite of the fact that Mrs. C (who by the way called herself a very “Hot Naabaa,” not hot number, “Hot Naabaa”, much love and thanks Mrs. C if you are reading this.) read the same story so many times, each time I managed to twist it into a slightly different version of something worth giving a high mark.

As a Result

All this basically meant that I left Primary school with the medal for English around my neck and a perfect score in English once the main exams came (how that happened, I don’t know, but I don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth).

My Kenyan High School Career…….

My Kenyan high school career was somewhat different. I went from being one of the brightest minds in primary school to having the intelligence of a mutilated cinder block. I thought this had affected me in many areas, science, maths etc etc but somehow I held on to the belief that I was still a good writer.

A Plane Ride Later My World Came a Crumbling Down

Australian high schools typically don’t involve a lot of creative writing and so it wasn’t until Year 12 that I had to write a story to show to my English as a Second Language (ESL) Teacher. The little ditty began like this:

I threw the stone as quick as lightning and it hit him with a blood curdling thud! As the blood leaked profusely from his eye, he let out a great big bellow like a wounded she-bear. And then he cast his gaze upon me, and as I looked into his eyes, they glowed with the malevolence of a dyeing ember (stolen expression that I used A LOT)

I galloped over to Mrs G., my ESL teacher (much love to you too, if you are reading this) and Mrs. G didn’t even bother mincing her words:

This story is terrible, it’s such a cliche!

An African Description of What Happened Next

My heart sunk lower than the Titanic. My breathing stopped and my heart began to beat at a million miles per hour.

“How could she think that was terrible,” I mused….as I perused……confused…….feeling somewhat abused

Creative Writing Class 2006

Needless to say I put a lot of writing activities on the shelf for the next few years trading creative writing for creating feasibility studies, marketing plans and business manifestos. And then in 2006 I did something I probably shouldn’t have done: I did only one subject for a whole University semester: creative writing.

I Loved It

What I realized was that, Western writing had long since passed the point of using cliched metaphors, proverbs and similies. We were literally teaching and being taught the left overs of Western thinking.

Twelve weeks of Creative writing and never did we have lessons on the proper use of a similie, or where to sprinkle in clever sounding proverbs. Instead we learned things like the lesson I’ll share with you below:

Ice Berg Writing

Whenever you write, your words should only express 10% of what’s going on with the other 90% being left beneath the surface in sub-text. In other words, the prose should only be the tip of the iceberg. An example:

The lipstick red dress continued to saunter and shimmy long after Nicole had stopped gliding across the room.

“Excuse me sir,” she purred ,” The Johnsons are here!”

“Thank you, Marta,” he barked from behind clenched cheeks.

“You are very welcome sir. Do you need anything else from me?”

” No, you may leave!”

And Sade crooned in the background as she smoothly operated her way out of that room.

He let out a sigh and prepared himself…….the Johnsons were here!

Well, I am not that good at iceberg writing but clearly there are quite a few things that one can infer from the above, including the character’s personalities and relationships to each other.

It’s more fun for one to infer these things in one’s mind than for me to blatantly say she dressed up to seduce her boss and she was making her boss very uncomfortable.

Is There a Point to All This?

The point of all this, is simple really. Realize if you are coming from Africa, that the way we were taught to write is based on a way of writing that Westerners have long since left behind.

Why This is Great for You

This is great for you because in its place Westerners now have an absolute love and appreciation for the individual voice in a piece of writing. They want to hear what you, the authentic, uncensored you has to say.

In Creative writing class, I wrote a ridiculous number of stories about sex and romance because that’s what I thought about most of the time. My writing was full of swearing, breaking of grammatical rules but I was still did pretty well in that class.

On the other end we had my buddy Raj was great at writing things in a I-just-took-a-hallucinogenic-drug-style. He could make you appreciate every moment of an experience and really pull you into a point of view.

What is Your Uncensored Voice?

So what is your uncensored voice? What does it sound and taste like? What would you say if you had no fear of failure? Express yourself below.

To learn about some of the other stuff I have learned from my life abroad, subscribe via RSS or email.

Mwangi