Recent Reflection: Being Called “African, Not Black

I migrated to the U.S. from Ghana in my teenage years, and the transition was enveloped in opportunities for growth and connectivity with new communities. I have grown to appreciate the rich layers of my identity shaped by my Ghanaian roots and those fostered while living here. But there’s one experience that has followed me for many years: being referred to as “African, not Black.

The first time someone said it to me, I didn’t know how to feel. At the same time as I was proud of my African heritage and the rich culture that grew me up, I felt this strange alienation. Growing up in Ghana, I loved the celebrations, the music, and the sense of community that were at the core of my childhood. It was as though my experiences living in the U.S. and navigating life as a Black person here were being invalidated. The reality is, moving to the States didn’t erase the color of my skin or the assumptions that came with it. I’ve faced racial profiling, microaggressions, and moments where I’ve felt the weight of systemic racism. These experiences made me realize that my identity as a Black person isn’t separate from my identity as an African it’s an expansion of it.

But looking back, I can see how I began to internalize some of these comments. I started feeling like I didn’t fully belong to either group-as if I wasn’t “Black enough” because I didn’t grow up in the U.S. or “African enough” because I’d embraced parts of life here. I even found myself hesitating to speak about my experiences, unsure of where they fit into the larger narratives of either identity.

It is a beauty I have learned lately: holding multiple identities. I have learnt that I don’t have to choose between African and Black because they coexist. Each single one of them is valid; together, they speak for me.

Now, if I’m told, “African, not Black,” the justification isn’t really necessary anymore; it is a reflection of how far I have come to accept the full range of my experiences. My identity is not dictated by one else’s perception, but rather shaped from where I come from, through the challenges faced, and the connections made on the way.

Ultimately, I’ve learned that identity is personal and multifaceted. It’s okay for it to feel messy or complex it’s what makes it beautiful. And for me, being both African and Black is a source of strength, pride, and belonging.

I know the depths of that joy and excitement in planning to have a child, but for me, it’s layered with fear. My partner and I have been having conversations about having a child sometime in our lives but still, there is something like heavy, unshakeable dread. My partner is a Black woman, and the more we forge ahead, the more the stories and statistics about the alarming rates of complications and even mortality that Black women face in childbirth haunt me.

It terrifies me, actually, just to think that only because of a certain somebody whom I hold so dear, she will be at risk because some system is broken and not because the natural risks involved in childbearing are at play. To be so in love and so excited about family, only to be burdened with the fact that for Black women, having children presents a certain unique and profound peril. I imagine her being dismissed, her pain being chided, and my heart goes out.

You wouldn’t know that by looking at us. Still, it is part of my day: visualizing hospitals and staff of medical professionals, creating options, and even finding an advocate to hire, in a desire for her to get the respect, care, and empathy that are due to her. Nothing every plan, every reading, every advocacy can eliminate one terrible fact: Black women in America have added risks due to systemic racism and neglect.

I hate that this fear even exists, that I have to think about it, that our joy is clouded by an injustice so deep it’s shaped by centuries of prejudice. This fear lives here in the quiet spaces: in the way I think about a future, in the way I look at her and feel in my heart the love we share, the life we want to build. It’s in those fears that, on a day that’s supposed to be nothing less than perfect, I’ll have to fight for her to be seen and heard.

We really don’t talk about this enough weight carried by families like ours. I truly hope sharing this brings to light what has been a reality for many but understood by few. This should not happen to anyone, and it is high time things change.

To give a bit of background, I moved to the USA from Ghana to a brand new community 7 years ago, I was pretty bummed out about moving here not only because I was leaving moving for the fourth time in 6 years but because I was stepping into a culture very different from my own with different norms and expectations. Growing up in Ghana, I understood gender roles in a certain way. Men did this and women did that, everything felt clearly defined. Moving to America, it became clear that the roles didn’t need to be so rigid and limiting to work.

In the new community, gender roles weren’t as straightforward. I saw many women in leadership positions at high-valued jobs that didn’t have to do with cooking, cleaning, and things as such, and men were involved in things I’d always associated with women. t felt like everyone could wear different hats, and it really made me start to question what I had grown up believing about what men and women “should” do. It wasn’t a simple adjustment either, not like going to the optometrist and getting a new pair of lenses after your old pair doesn’t cut it anymore. It took me time to realize how deeply those ideas had been embedded in me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe if I had stayed in Ghana, my views on gender roles wouldn’t have changed as much. Back there, no one questioned these things. They were just the way things were. In the new space, I was confronted with a different reality, one where gender wasn’t always tied to a specific set of expectations. It was like learning to see the world differently, and just like when my vision was blurry, I needed time to adjust.

I learned through all of this, though, that support makes all the difference. My family members, mostly my sister help me understand and navigate the cultural differences along with my schoolwork. Now, I’m still figuring it out, both my attention span and my understanding of gender roles. I know that with the support of my family and friends, I can keep learning and growing. Moving to a new place didn’t just change where I lived, it changed how I see the world and myself. And for that, I can say that I’m grateful

In recent years, the gaming industry has seen a surge in conversations surrounding inclusivity and representation, and the sports gaming genre is no exception. Electronic Arts (EA) has always been at the forefront of sports video games. With the launch of FIFA 23, the developer has aimed to break new ground by fully integrating women’s football into the game. However, this move has sparked considerable debate, with critics labeling the game as “woke” for its efforts to promote inclusivity. Let’s delve into the implications of this change and what it means for the future of gaming.

Critics of the developer’s decision to incorporate women’s football often use the term “woke” to describe what they perceive as a forced attempt to cater to contemporary societal trends. For some, the idea of inclusivity feels like an unwelcome shift from the traditional formats they grew up with. They argue that gaming should remain a representation of traditional norms and that introducing female athletes dilutes the authenticity of sports games.

However, this critique overlooks a critical point: the essence of gaming is rooted in evolution and adaptation. Just as the real-world sports landscape has changed to become more inclusive, video games should reflect these shifts, too. The backlash can be viewed as resistance against broader societal changes that embrace diversity and equality.

The introduction of women into FIFA 23 is more than just a marketing gimmick; it serves to inspire a new generation of gamers and athletes. By showcasing women’s leagues and players, EA is empowering young girls to see themselves in roles that were previously reserved for men. This visibility can be pivotal in fostering interest in women’s sports, encouraging participation, and promoting gender equality in athletics. Moreover, sports games have historically been a platform for players to connect with their favorite teams and players.

I believe that as we move forward, it is essential for developers to continue prioritizing inclusivity. Embracing diversity not only enriches the gaming experience but also sends a powerful message: everyone deserves a place in the world of sports, whether in reality or in the virtual realm. In embracing this change, perhaps we can pave the way for a more inclusive future in gaming for everyone.