I am an African child...or so they say.
Often, I think, apart from my skin the color of cocoa bean, and my thick, strong hair like my accent, what is African about me? Yes. Aside from my location on Google Earth and the skewed opportunities people there face, how unique am I among the rest of the world?
My mum once told me we had folktales and songs that imparted the wisdom of the elders to the young and connected us with our past. She said granny taught her early to braid hair, and at my age, she could balance a pot on her head and do the “inyanga” dance. But today our grandma only watches “American Idols”, and keeps up with the Kardashians too.
For a millionth time I have had to toss the remote myself because Thunderman, Batman, Antman and all the mans that matter don’t look like my brothers, and they don’t talk like me. Is it that TV don’t care about me, or because Uncle Achebe is gone? I am bothered that my brothers do not chant the songs of Orlando Pirates and Shooting Stars, yet they wear the history of Arsenal like sweater at harmattan.
You see, I also get worried that my school terms are named after Spring, Summer and Winter when our seasons are still rainy and dry. I can count with one hand the kids in my school that can speak our mother tongue. We are very few; and you might get punished for it.
But in all these I still know I am an African because during my holidays all I want to do is play in the open, feel my legs in the sand, hunt for birds and listen to stories from songs to which I have to respond. I wanted to visit Nairobi, see the famous yellow buses of Lagos and feel the artifacts at Benin. I crave to explore Dar es Salaam, Johannesburg, Cairo and Timbuktu. I am confident and proud because I am an African child from the paws of heroes. Like fine clay I have been refined by the heat of the Sahel; like blossoming palm I have flourished from the dews of Africa’s tropics. I am an African modelled to be brave like Nelson Mandela and sagacious like Cheikh Diop.
I am like Thomas Sankara, Wangari Maathai and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I am moulded to be a lite of Angelique Kidjo and Didier Drogba. I am an African. I am Africa. I am in lite of Africa.
