Karla Karma: July 2012

For many years I have elected to refer to myself as Black, with a capital B. I was at various times colored, negro, Afro and African American. However, I have long been, am and suspect will always remain Black. It is how I define myself . A woman does not let anyone else define her by name rank or social security number. I am now more myself than ever before. The other terms, while not inaccurate, certainly within historical context, are simply too exclusive. Most assuredly, I am an American. It’s where the boat stopped so many generations ago. And I have definite and obvious overt roots in Africa, most probably sub-Saharan. But, so does Charlize Theron. Therefore, the more inclusive term ‘Black’ embraces my ethnicity without making me qualify my nationality. To say otherwise would be akin to saying I am Female American. One is irrelevant to the other.

And then I came to Africa.

I was forewarned by the Peace Corps that Black Americans faced unique challenges in Botswana, as do others that do not fit what is seen as the ‘typical’ embodiment of an American, read that to mean white, male and Christian. Two of the categories where I diverge are unmistakable (at least I hope the male part is). I am neither white nor male. The latter is not so readily apparent. You cannot just look at me and know that I am a non-theist. But evident or not, I am not what the rest of the world, including Botswana, expect when they hear ‘American’ (I have a feeling, a hope, though, that the election of Barack Obama has done much to alter that perception).

I have traveled to places where I was a true minority, like Dublin, Ireland, and to where Black people are the majority, i.e.

Jamaica

. But nothing, nowhere like the scale I saw when I stepped unto the African continent. My initial response in landing in Jo Berg was “I am home.” I was waved through the International Gate while everyone else in our group of 35were stopped, passports checked, including the other Black volunteers. I grinned like the jet lagged, giddy needy nerd I am.

However, it was in

Botswana

where I was strikingly reminded of a routine by the late and incomparable Richard Pryor. I saw Black people, my people, everywhere, in every capacity. I saw my Aunt Evelyn! I am living with my Aunt Juanita! My niece Bridgette lives down the road! My Uncle Fred drives a taxi. When I reached Kanye, where I spent the next eight weeks in training, I wascalled ‘ an African woman’ and told on more than one occasion that I am home. My blackness connects me here in ways that transcend nationality and experience. But, don’t get me wrong, this is a double edged sword. The expectations, the responses are different for me and I am still most assuredly an American. But now one with roots, real roots that stretch beyond borders and time that did not exist for me before. I am included, not excluded, by virtue of my blackness. It is what we have in common and in common with all those that remained and all those that didn’t have that choice, wherever the boats may have stopped. It is why I am not colored, negro, Afro or African American.

I am Black and Black with a capital B.

AFRICAN NEGRO COLORED JUNGLE BUNNY STEP N’ FETCHIT SAMBO NIGRA AFRO-AMERICAN SPOOK DARKIE NIGGAH RASTUS CROW SMOKE POWDER BURN SOOTY KAFFIR SPEAR CHUCKER MAMMY UNCLE TOM NIGLET GORILLA IN THE MIST SCHVARTZE MANDINGO OREO APE SHINE TAR BABY AFRICAN AMERICAN NIGGER MULATTO BOY NEGRESS PORCH MONKEY BROTHA JIGGABOO BUCK SISTAH NUBIAN HOMIE COON BABY DADDY/MAMA GANGSTA AUNT JEMIMA PICKANINNY SHADOW GAL ONE MINUTE TO MIDNITE LOUD TRIBESMAN

BLACK…..

WHY DO THE INUIT HAVE SO MANY WORDS FOR SNOW?

Karla Henderson, BS/MA, is currently a Peace Corps Volunteer, 10 months into a two year assignment as a School and Community Liaison for Life Skills in the HIV/AIDS Capacity Building Project in Botswana, Southern Africa. She is also a PhD Candidate in Education Administration at Claremont Graduate University in Claremont CA.

Well, I think I finally got the gist of this! Hello from Moshupa, Botswana and my first blog post. We, Bots 11, have been here for 10 months and it has been equal parts excruiciatingly wonderful, scary as hell and gut wrenchingly lonely. I have turned sexty (sixty - thanks Ashley), missed two weddings, the birth of two great nephews, and the deaths of my last paternal aunt (the last of my father's sibs) and a high school classmate. I have become closer to my children, the intrepid Khalil and the indescribely (can't spell worth a damn) wonderful Kamani, the further from them I have ever been.

I have met people I know I will call friend for the rest of my life, seen sights only imagined before and found in myself strengths and weaknesses, prejudices and glories only previously hinted at (don't end a sentence with a preposition). Doing some of the best writing of my life and getting younger, more beautiful and wiser (I hope) every day!