Baptized by the soul of South London but forged in the fires of Yoruba heritage, I've been walking a tightrope of identity, attempting to reconcile these contrasting worlds, all the while seeking my own true place of belonging. This dance of duality has been my constant companion over three decades of existence, a captivating tango between disparate cultures.
The rhythmic cadence of my mother's Yoruba echoes within the walls of our home, a nostalgic melody that cocoons me in a sense of belonging. A polyglot by inheritance, I find a unique fortitude in my linguistic versatility. It's an armor, deflecting the blows of those who would attempt to belittle my roots through their narrow comprehension of language. Yet outside, we dance to the beat of a different drum, articulating our thoughts in the Queen's English. We, the offspring of Yoruba immigrants, carry the weight of our father's name in this foreign land, a place whose complex layers began to unravel as we matured.
The reality of migration is both a blessing and a curse. My parents, in search of greener pastures, left their homeland and ventured into Britain's bosom, guided by the faint glimmer of success. This decision was fuelled by the rising tides of post-colonialism, a bitter pill requiring a dedicated effort to comprehend. Understanding your roots is akin to possessing a compass, guiding your path to a promising horizon. Such wisdom, though initially unsettling, is empowering. It demands a re-learning, a metamorphosis, finding oneself in a land where skin colour, culture, and heritage become grounds for ostracism.
Unapologetically, I am a proud Black Brit with the strength of Yorubaland all in my DNA. I staunchly advocate the necessity to embrace this truth, even when the 'original' Brits might attempt to diminish our worth. The privilege of knowing our origins, using it as a key to unlock our potential, that's a special kind of power. We are chosen to imbue this world with the rich colours of multiculturalism, our stories weaving a tapestry of progress.
So when Billy from Kent urges you to "go back to your country", or Ade from Lagos accuses you of being 'too British', don't let the words fester. Wear your identity as a badge of honor, let them know "I am, what I am", in all our beautiful complexity. After all, it is what it is.
ninetyfree.
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