A Child of Two Worlds

Several years ago on a trip to South Africa, I bought and read an insightful little book Why I will Never Live in Oz Again co-authored by 5 journalists in South Africa. Each of them gave stories about living in different parts of the western hemisphere - US, Europe, Australia and New Zealand, and why they've chosen to make South Africa home. These are five gentlemen with choices about where they can live and make their careers, who decided that SA was the best choice for them. You can read interviews with three of the co-authors on the publishers website here.

Today as I was writing an editorial for the upcoming issue of Irinkerindo: Journal of African Migration, I once again thought about this issue of living away from my motherland. I suspect that am not unique in feeling like a child of two worlds. This, here, Philadelphia is home. So is Nairobi, Kenya.

When I am here, I miss home (Kenya). When I am in Kenya, I want to come back home (Philly).

I miss home (Kenya), the warmth of the people, the genuineness with which friends and family relate to one another, having all of my family and most of my friends within easy reach, not having to call in advance before visiting family or friends...

But when I am away from Philadelphia, I miss my backyard garden, our house, my 'stuff', and the infrastructure that I often take for granted like water & electricity. Because in Nairobi, water and electricity rationing are the norm rather than the exception. And off course, if I am away from Philadelphia, there is also the likelihood that I am away from my husband.

So I continue to enjoy the privilege of calling two places home. I journal and write about the opportunities and challenges of being an immigrant woman faculty of color in US academe, choosing to use my experiences as a platform to theorize and interrogate this immigrant narrative. I talk about what it means to discover my minority status, a new positionality that was not part of my first 30 or so years of life. I talk about discovering Blackness in a sea of Whiteness. Because I did not know I was black until I moved to the US.

Living in these United States has allowed me the opportunity to discover my Africanness...I never needed to think about it as an African living in Kenya. But being here means daily reconfiguring my identities and coming to terms with/or challenging the tediousness of this marginal, minoritized status.

Being an African in America also means daily thanking God for the education and economic status privileges that allows me to enjoy global citizenship, freedom of movement and pursuit of my intellectual curiosity without undue censorship because no matter what barriers are placed in my way, there is always the constant awareness of being a sojourner. I embody intercultural competency and global awareness, two tools that are requisite for success in the current marketplace of ideas (and leadership). So in a way, unlike those South African journalists who will never again live in the land of Oz, I will continue to live here until the good Lord calls me home (heaven or Kenya, whichever comes first).

Ref:
Crosier, Rick, Andrew Donaldson, Josef Talotta, John Wardell, and Tim Richman. Why I'll Never Live in Oz Again:--or the Uk, the Us, Canada or New Zealand for That Matter. Kenilworth: Two Dogs, 2007.