I am a proud African. Moving to Canada and being seen as Black was a culture shock
In Africa, we identify by our tribes
This First Person column is the experience of Vuyo Ginindza, who lives in Regina. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
It was only a couple weeks after moving to Canada from eSwatini that I realized this new society did not see me as I saw myself. I am African, but I'm seen as Black here.
I enrolled at the University of Regina in 2019, in pursuit of an acting career. I had signed up for a stand-up comedy class offered by the university and was workshopping jokes with a group of lively people when one of my white classmates asked if he could make a joke referencing African Americans and racism. At that point, there was a loud silence as everyone in the classroom turned to me, looking for judgment on the appropriateness of the joke.
Suddenly I — an African who had been in North America for no more than a week or so — had to make decisions on behalf of my entire race.
This experience marked the dawn of a new life for me — an era in my life where my ethnicity as a Swati was no longer at the centre of my existence.
In Africa, I had been Swati, as were my neighbours and friends. But now, as someone seen as Black, I became aware of race in a way that I had never been before. When I first heard someone refer to me as a person of colour, I was confused — not offended, just confused.
In many parts of Africa, people don't identify on the basis of colour. Instead we identify on the basis of tribalism. We don't consider ourselves Black or racialized people. We consider ourselves to be Africans. We consider ourselves to be Zulu, Oromo, Igbo, Masaai, Dinka, etc.
I never considered growing up in Africa as a privilege. But being away from my home and my country has made me appreciate my culture in a way I never did before.
There is a power that comes with knowing who exactly you are. I have always known that I am Swati, that I am the son of the Ginindza clan, that my last name carries the names of all of my forefathers and mothers and that my mother tongue siSwati carries clicks associated with the most ancient of African languages.
There is a level of specificity that comes with my identity because my ancestors were never displaced. For Africans in the Americas, the Caribbean and Europe, that specificity was lost for many when people from various tribes and African countries were all lumped together on ships, captured and sold into slavery.
My lineage and that of many other continental Africans follows a different history, and it is for this reason that we as Africans see ourselves differently from Black people in the Americas.
The greatness of my culture — and to have been surrounded by it — was and will always be a gift.
Ignorance in use of the N-word
There are some will never understand or care to learn about the rich diversity of Africa.
Last year, a white man in a black truck sped past me as I was walking by a Safeway in Regina, shouting out the N-word as he drove by.
Obviously I cursed him in every language at my disposal, but that word did not pierce my skin the way he may have hoped. I grew up knowing that I am Swati and that is the beginning and end of it. Anything that goes beyond that — especially a racial slur — does not register in my mind.
People's ignorance about my continent was very obvious such as when people spoke of Africa as a country rather than a vast continent.
I quickly learned the image I had of myself as a poised and proud African did not match whatever visual of Africa that some Canadians seemed to have in their minds.
But the same is also true for me.
As much as I love my own upbringing, I have come to realize that when you are surrounded only by your own culture and beliefs, you never consider anything beyond what you know. One can develop a very narrow perspective of the world and believe that things can and should only be done one way.
Since I didn't know of other Swati people in Regina, I felt the need to seek out other ways to connect with the Black community.
From Nigerian people, I learned to cook jollof rice and even to speak pidgin well enough to convince other Nigerians that I was one of them — at least momentarily. I also made Sudanese and Ethiopian friends. My Sudanese friend gently mocks me because I still haven't learned how to use "Inshallah" (God-willing) in the right context.
I've stretched myself in other ways too, attending round dances and becoming a Roughrider fan. In the time I have spent in Regina, I have been exposed to more cultures than ever before.
At 26, I still have a lot more soul-searching to do as I figure out what it means to be an African outside of Africa. Nevertheless, it has been a blessing to learn and engage with other Black and African people of the diaspora.
Here in Canada, I may not have my family around me. But I have found joy in knowing I am part of a larger one.
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