Black History Month

I am proudly black.

Not amber, not a yellow bone, not mixed race, but proudly black. 

Because when asked what tribe I am, I do not proudly profess that I embody Portuguese blood, pleading ignorance at the fact that my ancestors were raped by the colonizers. What pride is there in the light skin of my mother,as a result of the rape my great grandmother endured at the hands of those that colonized and enslaved us. Why do we downplay our actual tribe which is bantu, instead of the colonizers language. Instead, we proudly profess, "I am mixed!"

We then descend into this vain attempt of narcissism, because we are so fluent in the queens language and laugh at our fellow brothers and sisters when they mix up their 'L's and 'R's, not knowing that in the Oshikwanyama (native) language there is no letter 'R'. Hence, the inability for those that grew up speaking Oshikwanyama to pronounce words with the letter 'R'. Yet we sing praise to the child who has mustered the English language, but cannot speak their native language. It's a damn shame that you find those who pretend they cannot speak their native language, coupled with an English laced accent they will proudly profess, "ihandi popyi oshiwambo nawa tsog". 

So let me get this straight, the very people who took land from your forefathers, sold your mothers into slavery, used the slaves children as bait for alligator hunting, beat your fathers if they could read and traded your sisters as though for bread on a hungry day, are the ones language you want to hold close and wear proudly as a medal?

So influenced are we by western culture that the lighter your skin, the more beautiful. The more slurred your accent, the more attractive. The straighter your hair, the more appealing. The thinner your body, the more fitting. And so we forget our culture and spend every dime we procure on weaves, skin bleaching products and every slimming pill that is new on the market. We go on to pop bottles and spend on women, whilst our mothers go hungry in the places where our cultures still linger. Well, as long as you drive the latest merc right? As long as instagram has an update on the fancy dish you ate this afternoon right? As long as snap chat knows just how ostentatious your life is right?

We trade in essential parts of ourselves for trivial possessions. We have long given up our natural beauty of who we really are, natural kings and queens. 

My biggest envy is the man and woman who wears the colour of their skin as just that skin, who are not defined by societies standards of colour. Who have their minds an intellectual mix of African history, engraved in their heritage and content within themselves, as above all, they believe themselves to be African gods and goddesses. 

Because, "What you want? A bentley? Fur coat? All you blacks want all the same thing", does not form a part of their caliber.