I used to read a lot about race issues when I was younger; and I am still overwhelmed with sadness when I remember the story of Steve Biko. Even though I had an understanding of what racial discrimination was, I could never appreciate it full until I found myself in America.
Prior to moving here, all I knew was that I was me. I didn't know what it meant to be African. I didn't know what it meant to be black. All I knew was that I was just me, and most people around me were also like me. We ate the same foods, we wore similar clothes, we spoke the same languages, we shared a common culture and belief system.
I have never questioned and appreciated who I was until recently. When I talk, people realize that I talk differently. It is always a struggle to get my name right. The food I like to eat is not easily available here. I cant share some jokes with people because they would never get it. Anytime I wear braids, I am always questioned about how I managed to get my hair in that state
I begun to realize that I wasn't just me. I was a part of something bigger. I was a part of a race, a culture, a history. I am an African, a proud one at that.
Our continent is so rich with culture, diversity and history. Our people are the warmest you would ever meet. We have a very rich and interesting culture. We have a very beautiful melanin full black skin. We have faced a lot of travesty, and our problems are unlimited, but our spirit and hope can never be broken. Africans are beautiful, and I am proud to be one.