Create Don't Hate

Happy Friday,

I finally got around to posting this video blog! I recorded it a few weeks back (before I went very blonde at the front of my hair) and kept procrastinating, hence why it didn't go up. Alas I have may vices and procrastinating is the one I can't seem to shake. Procrastinating, over-shopping, over-thinking, under-exercising....yeah let me not list my vices!

As per usual I won't extrapolate further on the content in the vlog. The title sums up its message 'Create Don't Hate'. As a victim of anonymous internet haters via comment sections *waves at the e-haters*, I guess this is the closest thing those people will get to a response. Create more than you criticise. If you're doing more criticising than creating, you're wasting your life. Life is too short to spend it tearing down others, build up yourself so you can in turn help someone else. If you find you have so much vitriol within you, you're compelled to transfer that negative energy to someone else, seek therapy. I say that in all seriousness. Your pain is not there to be transferred to someone else. It is your responsibility to deal with your pain and by doing so you become a better person. Let me stop! I'm trying to not come across as a didactic elitist... : )

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At the moment I'm awaiting an ASOS delivery. Pretty convinced that shopping was ordained by God, but internet shopping was the brainchild of Satan. Do you know how many hours I spend on netaporter.com? There's only so much shoe porn a woman can watch without giving in and becoming a participant. I don't know the names of many of my cousins, however I know the names of shoes, bags and dresses. Why am I telling you this? Oh yes I'm awaiting my ASOS delivery, so I must go because I don't want to miss it. Plus I think I've divulged enough about my sick (yet oh so delightful) sartorial addiction(s).

Hope you all have an excellent weekend and thank you for all the support.

Best,

Christiana

xxx

Growing up African

Any child of immigrants will attest to the fact that there is a 'moment' you realise your home life is distinctively different from that of your peers. Mine came when I was corrected on my pronunciation of the word “crisps”. I always thought it was “crips”. When I exclaimed to my friend “but my mum says it CRIPS” she seemed rather appalled and retorted “well your mum’s saying it wrong”. Over the years it became apparent that it wasn’t just the way my family spoke that was different, it was also the way we lived.

Though there are similarities, children of immigrants don’t all have the same story. Some of our parents pushed against assimilation and others encouraged integration. Then there were the parents who feared the dilution of their core cultural values, but didn’t want their children to feel left out, so they promoted both integration and rejection.

Depending on their experiences growing up and the ideologies they adopt as an adult, we invariably have radically different perceptions concerning our identities. Some us struggle with a sense of belonging and ask ourselves "where do I belong?" Others aware they're fortunate to have been born “abroad” wrestle with internal guilt. The privilege that comes with being born in the West (especially when juxtapositioned with the perilous state of much of the developing world) burdens many with a sense of responsibility they haven’t chosen to bear.

Then there are those like myself who for whatever reason have never been preoccupied by such questions. However the fact we’re not preoccupied by our national identity and picking a side, leaves us vulnerable to accusations of being a 'sell out’ or not knowing who we truly are.

The politics and complexity of identity aside, I’ve found "belonging" and being familiar with two worlds means my life is richer. I have a deep insight into two cultures. I'm aware of their points of tensions and areas of overlap. My perspectives and experiences have a width and depth they would otherwise lack. This means I understand cockney rhyming slang and Igbo (sadly I speak neither). I can make bangers and mash and then pound yam for my dad (the quality of both dishes is horrendous). Ultimately being from two worlds has taught me the lesson that all people have more in common than they believe. We all seek the same things, love, acceptance and security; we simply have different methods of pursuing our aims. Finally, if a person is good (or bad) it is not because of their culture or nation of origin, it is in spite of it.

I remember growing up and cringing at some of my parents idiosyncrasies. Now I look back and marvel at how two individuals who came here with nothing built incredible lives for themselves and their children. This story of hustle, determination, tenacity, belief and vision is not unique to my parents. Despite what the Daily Mail and other right wing news outlets like to propagate, most immigrants don’t migrate simply to take from society, they come to give. They seek to give to a better life to their children, give to their families back home and ultimately they give back to society.

Today I'll focus on some of the random experiences that occur when you’re raised in the West by parents from Africa. I shared some of these thoughts on Facebook and Twitter earlier last week and two things struck me. Firstly, the sheer number of people who identified with what I wrote. Secondly, how people from other cultures, be it West Indian, Irish, Indian, Arab, English or Polish, also identified with my anecdotes. Apparently it's not just African parents, all parents are a bit special (crazy).

Things that occur when Growing up African.....

That moment of shock when you discover everyone doesn't bath with a bucket and sponge.

That day you discover that they don't serve Supermalt in pubs. In fact they don't serve it anywhere. Most people outside your milieu have never heard of Supermalt. This fact will puzzle you forever.

Finding out the woman you call grandma isn't your grandma. Neither is your aunty, your aunty. Or your cousin, your cousin. In fact 95% of the people you refer to with a term that suggests they're a blood relation are not.

Contrarily, you're often dragged to parties and introduced to someone you have never met who is actually your cousin, aunty or uncle. Due to convention you must then have a conversation where the starter question is "how is school?" No matter how school is going you say "good”

The realisation "how is school?" will be the starter question for every conversation you have with an aunty or uncle until you graduate. When you graduate the question becomes "when are you getting married?"

Going to parties and there's a high table for special guests. Ironically the table is often not that high. It's just an ordinary table covered with wrapping paper and draped with Christmas lights. At some parties there are more people on the high table than at the rest of the party.

Weddings usually begin 1-3 hours late.

Conversations that begin with rhetorical questions such as "Am I your mate?" and "Are you calling me a fool?" rarely end well.

The phrase "Can you imagine" never requires the use of your imagination because it normally follows/precedes a story told in vivid detail.

That embarrassing moment when you go to the airport and despite obsessively using the scales at home, your mum has excess luggage. You stand at the check-in desk watching your parents try and negotiate a deal so they don’t pay for excess luggage. When that fails, they start to "spread the weight" across the suitcases. When that fails they eventually hand over the stuff they really didn't have to take to the relative who drove you to the airport. The first 3 hours of the flight back to Africa is spent with your mum lamenting over the luggage lost.

The shock when you discover that using "Plum Tomato" isn't the only way to make stew.

The phrase "the devil is a liar" is used as an exclamation, response, question, and declaration.

That moment of confusion when you realise that women getting money thrown at them whilst they dance is considered objectification. At the parties/weddings we’re taken to, having a bunch of dollar bills thrown at you is called getting ‘sprayed’. It simply means you're dancing well. And if you're anything like me you've discovered it's a great way of funding your shoe fetish.....

Going to parties in school/community halls and all the drinks are in a big black bin filled with ice.

Living in a house filled with “Souvenirs” collected from parties means you can start the day drinking tea from a mug with a dead man's face on it. On the mug are the words "Chief Adeyemi goes to glory. Sleep well Daddy. Psalm 23:1”

Pretending to be dead after a severe smacking. Your parents never believe you're dead and if they do they either 1) Smack you more to wake you up 2) Leave you for "dead"

Being called downstairs to change the channel, even though the remote is NEXT to your mum.

Trying not to stare at that aunty who shaves off her eyebrows and draws them back on.

That awkward painful silence that envelops the room when a sex scene comes on TV.

When the ends of your extensions have been burned and keep sticking to your school jumper.

The first time you decided to experiment and told your parents to 'shut up'. What happened after is too painful to share on this blog.

Discovering you won't have a room for months because an 'aunty'/'uncle' is coming from back home and they're taking your room. If you're fortunate you'll be notified a day prior to the event.

Microsoft Word putting a squiggly red line underneath your name after you type it. Actually that still happens….


Your mum saving oil to refry food in it. So your plantain tastes like fish. Or your chips taste like plantain.

Your dad giving your schoolteacher permission to "cane" you. She looks appalled and politely refuses. He's disgusted.

Being threatened with getting sent back to the "village" whilst your friend Tommy gets put on the "naughty step"

"Dad I got 96%!!" "Where's the other 4%? The girl that came first did she have two heads?"

Going into the freezer, taking out a tub of ice cream, opening it and feeling devastated when you discover it's frozen stew. This still regularly happens to me.


Best,

Christiana


xxx

The decline of ladies and gentlemen

The discourse surrounding men and their behaviour is rather polarised. On one side we have those who believe all (or at the very least most) men cheat, lie, have commitment issues, dislike hard work, will forget your birthday and insist on playing mind games. If you're particularly misfortunate you may meet and fall in love with a man who manages to possess all of the above traits.

Then we have the romantics. Those who passionately believe every woman is predestined to meet a man who will perfectly fit her imperfections and specifications. In ‘The One’ she'll find the love, security and serenity she seeks, and finally be able to retire from the futile dating game. Unfortunately we don’t often speak about ‘Mr Average’, the man who lives in the gulf between the two myths. Much like the average woman, Mr Average is fundamentally good but prone to the occasional screw up.

In an ironic twist the reality about men seems to have become as skewed as the myths. Depending on where you go, who you know and what you believe, if you meet a man he’s either a demi-God or a fully fledged demon. Mr Average seems to have all but have vanished and at times it seems as though the demons outnumber the demi- Gods .

It is said there was once a time when being a gentleman was part of a man’s duty. Male identity was so bound up in gentlemanly conduct to behave otherwise was to choose to abdicate from your responsibility and masculinity. Those days are no more. There's been a downward shift in what society expects from men which has negatively impacted the standards men set for themselves. We’re in a bit of a predicament and many women are constantly asking "Where have all the gentlemen gone?"

Before writing this blog, I decided to discus the subject with one of my best friend’s and get his opinion. He raised a number of salient points about why there seems to be an underwhelming number of gentlemen. Firstly, hazy conceptions concerning what precisely it means to be a man and the subject of gender itself being immersed in unnecessary controversy and complexity means men who do display gentlemanly conduct are at risk of being labelled as the "nice guy" and instantly friend zoned.

Gestures that were once deemed gentlemanly are now viewed by some women as offensive. Such women (who he described as “crazier than Germaine Greer on her period”) feel insulted when men behave in a chivalrous manner, as they believe it implies they can’t take care of themselves. After assuring him that no woman I know personally would ever take offence if a man paid the bill or covered the taxi fare home, he responded with “That’s not because you’re post-feminist. That’s because you’d all rather spend your money on shoes. Witches” Yes he called us witches.

When my friend realised I intended to focus this blog on the decline of the gentleman he launched into a long monologue, most of which is too offensive to post. However the final part of his rant is worth sharing.....

“Christiana, where are the ladies? You can’t sit here and lament about the decline in gentlemen, when there are no ladies for real men to court. I'm not trying to deflect. I understand men need to step their game up. But I know even if they did step up their game a lot women aren't doing their part either. However no one’s talking about it because you’re all so sensitive… ”

After thinking carefully about my friend’s argument I came to the realisation I couldn’t blog about the decline in gentlemen without acknowledging that there are less women behaving like ladies.

Tracing the decline in the lady is a complex task. It’s an unsurprising turn of events considering we're in a culture where every female singer in the charts (bar Adele) seems to be in a competition with the next to see who can wear the least amount of clothes without revealing her labia.

We live in a bizarre time where a woman broadcasting intimate details about their sex life is empowering rather than crude. Being drunk and disorderly in public is viewed as liberating rather than uncouth. Edgy is better than elegance. Foulness is preferred to finesse. More (weave) is better than less.

For every man unaware of the power of a well-tailored suit, there's a woman who thinks leggings are trousers.

Sidebar: Leggings are not trousers.

For every man that doesn't walk on the right hand side of a lady, there's a woman that won't cross her legs. For every man that approaches a woman with unnecessary aggression, there's a woman who responds to a man with unnecessary abrasion.

Now I understand the discomfort surrounding labels such as gentleman and lady, they were popularised in a time when women were subservient and men were dominant patriarchs. However I don’t think our status quo is desirable either. A lot of women are losing out on the joys that come from being a lady and being treated as such. Countless men are losing out on the esteem that comes from being a gentleman.

It doesn’t have to be zero-sum. There is a middle way, where we take the best of the traditional conceptions of being a gentleman and lady and then blend it with our modern way of thinking.

In essence being a lady or gentleman is about striving to be excellent in all things. It means holding yourself to a standard that is higher than necessary. It's not so much about one’s appearance (though that comes into play) it's about conduct.

Being a gentleman or a lady involves a great deal of responsibility. We can shirk away from that responsibility or we can aspire to embrace it, and live it. The challenge I leave with all of us (myself included) is to strive to do the latter.

Best,

Christiana

xxx