The Skin, The History, and the Stereotype: Translating Identity Across Cultures

Boot and bonnet.  Chemist.  Trolley.  Nappie.  Serviette.  Centre.  Saviour.  Aeroplane. 

 

One thing I learned in East Africa is that I not only had to learn functional Kiswahili but I also needed to learn English.  Sure, I spoke English, but I spoke American English.  I spoke too fast, didn’t pronounce my letters properly, and I didn’t even know the right words or how to spell.  I needed to learn British English.  I needed to slow down my flow of words and actually pronounce the letters that are in the words (ki-tt-en not ki-in, wa-T-er not wadder) or I would not be understood.  My audience would struggle to understand me, not because they were not capable of speaking English, but because I spoke a “different” English.    

I quickly learned it wasn’t only my language that needed to be translated.  It was me, my self, my body, what I represent through my biologically embodied representation of my particular slice of humanity.

Growing up, I didn’t think too much stereotypes, especially not my own.  I struggled to understand my identity as Tara, as myself as an individual, but I didn’t spend an ounce of energy trying to understand my ethnic identity, racial identity, collective identity, or the identity that others see what they look at me. When I looked in a mirror, I didn’t think about the layers of history written in my genetic code.  I just saw me and my immediate family (i.e. my aunt’s jaw, my grandmother’s nose, my mother’s curl, my dad’s hair) but not traits that said “Swedish,” “Dutch,” “German,” and “English”.  But then again, I never had to.  I’d never been looked down upon or insulted because of the labels of identity that people attribute to me when they see me. 

My first weeks in Kenya, I quickly learned I had acquired new labels.  

Mzungu.

“Mzungu” (plural wazungu) now branded me.  I didn’t know what it meant, but I did know that I was no longer invisible.  I couldn’t pass down the street unnoticed or be seen as “normal” but I stood out like a scarlet macaw in a flock of penguins.  My appearance branded me as “other” and I found myself wading through a sludge of symbols so deep I couldn’t lift a tennis shoe without finding myself dripping with the expectations of those around me.

I didn’t understand my interpretation.  Kenyans saw me and labeled me in their framework, reading symbols that I did not know were there, let alone their meaning.  And I discovered I needed to translate what my appearance communicated in my new context.  I needed to understand what it meant to be “me” in their worldview.   

Mzungu comes from the same Kiswahili root word as the words kizunguzungu ( dizziness) and kuzunguka (to turn around in a circle).  It basically means “a person who wanders aimlessly” or “one who is lost” (coined by Swahili inhabitants of the first European explorers based on the actions of the Europeans wandering around “discovering” things the natives already knew were there).  (check it out on Wikipedia for more details).

The term has changed in meaning over time and has history has unfurled.  It can be a noun or an adjective.  It can describe a person, an object, or a behavior.  Still, the overall ideas that emerge from the term are something wealthy, powerful, and/or foreign.  It is often used to describe something (or someone) of European descent and takes on the racial undertone of whiteness (which in the East African historical framework are inextricably interwoven with concepts of power, wealth, beauty, and status). 

Wazungu are never poor and wazungu are always “other”. 

I quickly learned that my appearance led to being given the best place in church, on the bus, and in the line at the bank.  It meant the marriage proposals, dinner invitations, ministry opportunities, and business partnerships sought me out faster than the mosquitos.   I didn’t have to prove my qualifications or my worthiness.  People automatically presumed my competence based on my physical appearance.

This also meant I was a walking target.  It meant I was robbed by those I’d never met and those I considered my closest friends.  It meant being sought because of what I represented and not who I was.  Everyone wanted a piece of my pie and tried to convince me to support their cause, their need, their ministry, or their business.  My power and wealth were contagious to those in my sphere of relationships (and so I was uninvited from certain ministries and relationships because I would lead to heightened expectations and "scare away" potential donors).   

Adding the label of “female” made me even more complicated.  I represented free sex (thanks to globalized porn industry) and access to status.  I could give visas, job opportunities, cash, cars, and “add value” to those around me.  I was a free ticket to the “heaven” that is the mzungu world.  I represented the colonizer who could be colonized and the unattainable brought within grasp.  

A stereotype doesn't have to be true to be powerful.

It’s very few people who see below the skin, the history, and the stereotype.  

Hood and trunk.  Pharmacist.  Cart.  Diaper.  Napkin.  Center.  Savior.  Airplane. 

When my husband came to the U.S. from Uganda, he also had to adjust his English.  He’s tried to slur certain words, force his “r” in words like dirt, bird, and water, and not pronounce all the letters in mosquito, leopard, and juice.  His English has had to adjust to include more American slang and idioms.  It’s been part of the process of helping his audience understand him and not consider his fluent English as "broken".

He’s also had to relearn what it means to be him.  He has always experienced people interpreting his appearance.  It happened all the time back home.  Other Ugandans, at one glance, read the tall, lean frame and  deep fudge-colored skin and immediately labeled him as “northern Ugandan” or “Nilotic” as opposed to “Bantu”.  These labels carried an army of stereotypes that he shed like a snake sheds skin when he landed in the U.S. he was interpreted according to those stereotypes.  

African.

It didn’t take a week in the U.S. before Ivan found himself mired in a swamp of symbols he didn’t understand.  In the American context, he has been forced to translate his appearance into the American labels of “Black” and “African” and renegotiate what it means to be him based on how he is interpreted. 

“Black” does not refer to a physical description of aesthetic appearance, but a long, complicated racial history that puts people on a ladder from least desirable to most desirable based on a socially constructed idea of immutable origins.  His skin means he is called n****r, slave, dangerous, and dirty. 

People read his appearance and cross to the other side of the street to avoid walking too close.  The police follow him in their police car and frisk him just to make sure he isn’t causing problems.  His appearance means people interpret his “standing politely and listening” as “threatening” them and will report him to his supervisors for hostility.

Yet his label of “Black” is sometimes countered with “African”.  He is often rejected by African Americans as being “not Black” and told to go back to where he is from.  His status as “African” also means he is exotic and is sought out by “White” Americans to share about what it’s like to be African and poor. 

Africans are always poor and Africans are always “other”.    

Ivan thought he was Ugandan and from the “Pearl of Africa,” the “Source of the Nile,” and he came proud of his heritage.  He quickly learned he should say he is Jamaican.  African is associated with deranged dictators, child soldiers, famine, civil war, AIDS, and poverty.  To be African means to be incompetent and inferior to an American in all things.  To be African means he must have lived with a pet lion, hunted with a spear, clothed in a loin cloth, and only experienced literacy, English, electricity, and automobiles upon U.S. soil.  He is congratulated on finally making it to the "heaven" that is America and freed from the "hell" of Africa.

As an African in America, he learned it means he is wrong.  His English is wrong, his education is wrong, his job experiences are wrong, and his culture is wrong.  He needs to go back to zero, relearn everything, redo everything until he can be reborn “American” and know how to do things “right”.  Until he throws off everything “African” about him, he will just be another “unskilled worker from a s***hole country”(source), no matter how many skills, degrees, and doctorates he possesses.  

A stereotype doesn't have to be true to be powerful.  A jug labeled milk will be treated differently than a jug labeled paint, regardless of contents.  

It’s very few people who see below the skin, the history, and the stereotype. 

We were born into bodies that we did not choose, into ethnicities we did not intend, and into nationalities that were chosen for us.  Yet these markers of identity still communicate to our audience deeply powerful symbols that influence how we are understood and perceived.  

In cross-cultural interactions, it’s not only the language we speak and way we greet that needs to be translated.  There’s a long process of renegotiating identity: who am I?  Who do other people think I am?  What does it mean to be me?  How do I interact with the world around me based on how this world understands me? Who should I become in future? 

Sometimes we do not know what we communicate through perceptions of our skin, history, or stereotype.  And sometimes we are forced to learn, unlearn, and relearn our own embodied symbols in order to understand how our identity translates across cultures.  

Christianity in Africa and Africa in Christianity

Christianity and Africa are inseparable. The two are intertwined deeply in the history and development of the other. Christianity is not foreign to African soils. It is not a religion brought in by fumbling European missionaries in suits with sunburned noses. No, from its conception, Africa has been there and has made invaluable contributions to the evolution of the faith. Yet Christianity has also had a profound impact on the development of Africa. The evolution and history of the faith has held an irrevocable role in the evolution of the cultural landscape and history of the continent. Despite the continual rise and fall of empires, power struggles, and battles to define and understand itself and its role, Christianity has persevered on the continent and remains a vibrant force for change and movement even today. Through this article, the impact of Africa on Christianity and of Christianity on Africa will be explored through four stages of history: initial expansion from the first century to the seventh century of the current era, the disintegration of empires from the seventh century to the fifteenth century, the rise of commercial-religious expansion during the fifteenth to the nineteenth century, and finally the modern missionary movement from the nineteenth century to the modern day.

I.) First to Seventh Century C.E.: Birth of Christianity

Africa has been involved in the development of Christianity even before the very death and resurrection of Jesus, the cornerstone and foundation of the faith. According to Biblical traditions, Africans were present at nearly all of the major events in the formation of the faith. Africans were a part of Jesus’ infancy, his crucifixion, the onset of the first church, and the subsequent expansion of the church. The writings of Matthew teach that Jesus spent a few of his formative years in Egypt with his parents, Mary and Joseph after fleeing the wrath of King Herod[1]. Later on, according to the writings in the Gospels, Africa again came a part of the tradition during Jesus’ crucifixion. Simon from Cyrene, Libya, carried Jesus’ cross when Jesus had fallen from exhaustion and could no longer carry it[2]. During the Jewish feast of Pentecost, after the ascension of Jesus in which the first Christian church emerged, two African men were named as being present during Pentecost[3] and the book of Acts tell of Phillip converting and baptizing an Ethiopian Eunuch he met on the road and converted[4].

After the establishment of the first Christian Church movement in the first century and on until the 7th century of the Common Era, Africa still held an important role in the development of the faith. During this period, Christianity underwent an extensive formative process as the Church struggled to come into being and then later to define itself. The initial birthing pains of the Church watered the lands of the Roman Empire in the blood of martyrs. Yet this persecution, instead of dampening the faith, seemed instead to fuel it and Christianity spread like wildfire across the Empire and beyond. During this era, the faith spread throughout northern and eastern Africa, and became established in Egypt, Ethiopia, Nubia, and North Africa. African Christians were not exempt from martyrdom as even St. Cyprian, the bishop of Carthage, was martyred in 258 for refusing to offer sacrifices to the Roman gods[5]. As early as 180, it is recorded in the Acts, the earliest authentic document on Christianity in North Africa, that 12 Christians from Scilla (or Scillium) in Numidia were executed under the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius for refusing to recant[6].

The conversion of Constantine in 312 CE and subsequent Christianizing of the Roman Empire quickly stilled the persecution of the infant Church. The Church all the sudden found itself in a position of power. All the energy that the saints had spent on surviving outwardly was suddenly enabled to turn inward and focus on the defining of Church beliefs and doctrines. As the Church no longer had to worry about being fed to lions and hiding in catacombs, the Church could now worry about what those within its confines of faith believed and adhered to. With the diversity inherent in its converts, doctrinal disputes were unavoidable. These disputes were necessary in order to determine and define what Christianity was and was not. The doctrinal disputes between the Donatists and Monophysites, the Pelagianists and the Arians, the Gnostics and the Judiazers all led to a need for the Church to decide what it was by deciding what it was not. Ecumenical councils were called together to determine official positions of the Universal Church on theological disputes[7]. These disputes, though an unavoidable part in the development of Christianity, were conducted in painful and needlessly bloody manners, and created great rifts and chasms between groups.

African Christianity was itself in dispute with more than half of the Christians in North Africa being Donatists, especially in Numidia, and this created a large division between different branches of the faith[8]. These doctrinal disputes led to the declaring of many to be deemed as heretics (which in many cases were most of the African versions of Christianity, especially the Monophysite beliefs held by the Coptic Church). These doctrinal disputes were sometimes peaceful, and oftentimes horrifically not. Though many of the manners in which these conflicts were quelled were less than savory and even, less than “Christian”, the conflicts themselves (not the way in which they were solved) were necessary for the evolution of the faith.

While Christianity struggled to define itself, there arose a great many brilliant minds that greatly impacted the development of the faith. Their works and writings and ideas influenced and laid foundations for the Church for the following hundreds and thousands of years, many still being read today. Appropriately enough, many of these influential individuals were of African blood; men such as Tertullian, Origen, and Clement of Alexandria had a profound impact that is still felt. Pachomius and Anthony developed the monastic tradition which was later carried into Europe and used to spread the faith throughout the world[9]. The most impacting African of the era, and one of the most influential writers in Christianity[10], was Augustine of Hippo whose writings are still recognized by both European and African Christians and a part of traditions even today.

While African minds were influencing the evolution of Christian thought, Christianity was transforming the cultural landscape of Africa in Egypt, Ethiopia, Nubia, and North Africa. The most influential African church began was founded in Egypt. Tradition holds that St. Mark founded the church in Egypt as early as 40-60 CE and the church in the ancient Hellenistic city of Alexandria became a center of Christendom. The Coptic Church, as it later came known to be called, spread Christianity through Africa and despite persecution and Islamic invasion, has continued to the present day.[11]

Nubia’s conversion came during the 6th century when the Egyptian monk, Julian traveled through Nobatia preaching the gospel. By 652 CE, the last of the three Nubian kingdoms had converted. This area produced a flourishing of religious art and architecture during this era[12]. The church in North Africa was well established, especially in Carthage which became another flourishing center of Christendom. Christianity spread remarkably quickly in North Africa, so much so that by 312 there were at least 70 bishops in Numidia[13].




Christianity is deeply interwoven into the fabric of Ethiopia. With the conversion of the Ethiopian Eunuch in the book of Acts and Eusebius’ account stating that the apostle Matthew “spread seed of the church to Ethiopia”[14] Christianity has had a presence in the country ever since the beginning. Whatever its original origin may be, the country itself was not notably Christianized until the mid-fourth century with the arrival of scholars from Alexandria who converted the Axumite king[15]. St. Frumentius is given credit for introducing the people of Ethiopia to Christianity. He was a slave of the king in the Axumite court, and brought Christianity to the court and to the people. King Ezana eventually accepted Christianity and Frumentius was ordained the bishop of the Ethiopian church[16] . Christianity spread throughout the country and became infused with many traditional Ethiopian elements[17]. Aksum remained a Christian nation from the 4th century until 7th or 8th century.


II.) Seventh to Fifteenth Centuries C.E.: Disintegration of Empires


The next era in history, during the 7th-15th century, saw a profound disintegration of the previously established Christian empires and retraction and isolation of the Church. Theological disputes had turned church energies inward causing the Church to gradually grow more and more disunited and weak. The Roman and Byzantine “Christian” Empires became so busy quarrelling amongst themselves that they began to disintegrate and lose territory. With the rise of Islam, most of the empires fell apart. The rapid spread of Islam over North Africa from 640-711 “effectively ended the presence of Christianity”[18]. The areas most weakened through internal struggles, especially where the Monophysite belief had been dominant, were where Islam most effectively expanded. By 700, Alexandria, one of the oldest patriarchal churches and the most important Christian center in Africa, had been lost[19].





During this season, Africa lost much of its Christian influence, but not all. Christianity remained a permanent part of the landscape in certain well-established and hidden parts of the continent. In Nubia and Egypt, many converted to Islam rather than face the persecutions of Islam. Yet the taxation and persecution that the spread of Islam brought to these areas could not permanently stamp out the impact of Christianity in these areas. A few stubbornly held onto their Christian traditions. In Nubia, for example, the Muslims came in 652 and captured Dongola, the last Christian stronghold. Strangely enough, the Muslim conquerors treated the Nubian Christians differently than most areas they took over. Instead of forcing them to convert or suppressing their freedom, the Muslims and Christians agreed on a treaty which they called a bakt. This treaty was a “highly unusual move for the time” and “guaranteed a strong measure of autonomy and religious freedom to Nubia”.[20] Dongola remained Christian until 14th century and Alwa held on until the 16th century when it finally fell to the Ottomans.




(pictured: Rock Church in Lalibela)

Ethiopia also survived the Muslim onslaught, but not without injury. It was effectively separated from the rest of Christendom and became a church turned inward, isolated from the outside world. During the 12th-13th centuries, Christianity still continued to spread southward in the country. Christianity’s influence can be seen in the art, architecture, government and culture of the time being, entrenched into every aspect of Ethiopia. During this era Ethiopian religious art and architecture flourished, producing some of the greatest achievements of the country, including the massive rock-hewn churches in Axum and Lalibela. Christianity was given its own uniquely Ethiopian color and flavor during this period of incubation, separated from the rest of the world by the Muslim strongholds. [21]

III.) Fifteenth to Nineteenth Centuries C.E.: Age of European Expansion 

The 15th-19th centuries saw a rise of commercial-religious expansion through the efforts of European explorers and missionaries. Within ten years of the first Portuguese ship rounding the Cape of Good Hope in 1488, their ships had explored up the East Coast of Africa[22]. This contagious surge of exploration spread across Europe as efficiently as the Plague and quickly brought ships full of would-be explorers and merchants onto Africa’s rich, red soil. In these foreign hearts, politics and religion remained inextricably linked. In a marriage of selfishness and selflessness, greed and charity, Christianity was carried on European ships to parts of Africa before unaffected by the faith. Eastern, western, and southern coasts of the continent felt the impact of the influx of European beliefs and customs, from South Africa to Kenya to Benin and to the Congo. While this movement did create a sudden burst of Christianity around the coasts of the continent, it did not leave a lasting impression in the hearts of the people.




(pictured King Nzinga)

The kingdom of the Kongo received missionaries in 1491who came with the intent and purpose of converting the king and controlling commerce. This two-fold goal gave exploitation a blunter edge. The Manikongo King Nzinga was the first to receive the Portuguese and later he and his entire court converted to Christianity. Yet much of his conversion and the conversions of the court were influenced by wealth and power politics more so than any genuine change of belief[23]. King Nzinga’s son, Alfonso I (1461-1543), however, was a sincere and passionate convert and proceeded to make Christianity the official state religion and encouraged the Portuguese missionaries to continue to come and convert his people[24].

The Kongo wasn’t alone. A Roman Catholic mission was created in Cairo in 1630, Mozambique had one king baptized in 1652, and South Africa saw its share of converts. Mombasa had its own share of Portuguese priests at Fort Jesus until they were finally killed and expelled. Even Ethiopia received Jesuit missionaries from 1564-1622.[25]

While Christianity began to influence areas that it had never touched before and places previously isolated from the rest of Christendom were suddenly exposed to different ways of worship, Christianity did not leave a lasting impression on African soil despite the efforts of these European missionaries. The goal of political/commercial expansion and the salvation of souls for Christianity were conflicting, often diametrically opposed purposes that made it necessary for one to be chosen over the other and, more often than not, economic goals won out.

In the Kongo, the Portuguese two-fold goal began to be more and more lop-sided as they pursued economic gains with much more vigor than they pursued spiritual. They continued to put more and more pressure on the kingdom to provide them with slaves, even going so far as to kidnap people in the king’s own family. By 1613, King Alvare II resorted to the Vatican to try to reassert authority that had been stolen by the Portuguese. He complained in a letter to the Pope that “the Christian religion is making no progress because there are no priests...the foreign priests who come to the Congo have no preoccupation other than that of enriching themselves and returning to their countries; they take no interest in gaining souls for heaven.”[26] The Portuguese had created more of a commercial empire with a Christian rationalization than a Christian kingdom. Across Africa, the European missionaries’ use of politics to develop the church and the church to develop politics failed. No viable Christian structures lasted beyond the deteriorating abandoned archeological relics until the 1880’s[27].

IV.) Nineteenth Century to Today: Modern Missions to Reverse Mission 

The dawning of the 19th century continued to see Africa impact Christianity around the world. The slave trade between the Western world and African world led to unavoidable controversy, increasing in its uncomfortable gnawing at the consciences of the perpetrating cultures. This dichotomy and conflict between commercial and ethical/moral goals continued to rise until more and more advocates began to condemn the slave trade until it was finally abolished. This movement in the British Empire became “the engine to drive the modern missionary movement, especially the Protestant missions.”[28]



(Pictured: German East Africa from German Federal Archive)

Soon, new missionary societies sprung up all over the U.S. and Europe, including a reformation in Catholic missions. This new movement saw a change in approach where it no longer focused its attention on the kings, rulers, and princes. Instead of seeking to convert the elite and so force conversion upon the masses, the modern missions’ movement sought to convert the ordinary people. Individuals came to convert individuals instead of nations converting nations. This new movement also focused on the underdogs and marginal members of society and the ordinary folks. It sought to train the indigenous people for the clergy and find ways for peaceful, social change[29].

African cultures played an important role in the development of this new movement. For much of Christian history, foreign missionary endeavors have been ignorant on the importance of anthropological methods and an understanding of a native people’s language and worldview. Over time, missionaries finally began to realize that European Christians are distinct from Asian ones which are distinct from African ones. For too long, Christianity was imported into Africa in a strictly European cultural shell that was near impossible for indigenous peoples to understand or conform to. Only when the Gospel was garbed in their traditional clothes could it be swallowed and fully digested in a meaningful way, as it had in Ethiopia and Egypt.

Christianity had an explosive impact on the continent. Europeans, both missionaries and not, had imported many of their values and political systems, some for good and some for ill, yet regardless of that, they came and became a part of the identities of the people. The modern missions’ movement brought trends in linguistic work and cultural ethnography that had profound effects both for Christianity and for the people themselves[30].

While under colonial control, the continent housed approximately 8.7 million Christians in 1900. By 1962, there were 60 million and by 1998, there were 350 million. It is important to note that the explosion of growth of Christianity came “after the end of colonial rule.”[31]

The twentieth century saw an upsurge in nationalism as Africans sought to throw off the yoke of colonialism and stand in their own independence. This movement also impacted Christianity in Africa as concurrently, Africa saw a rise in indigenous, independent church movements. Africa is still in the process of defining what Christianity looks like when stripped of its foreign elements, brought down to the bare essentials of the faith, and transplanted in its own soil. Conflicts still remain between the leftover scars and mistakes from Colonialism, as well as the power struggles facing African nations as they struggle to survive. And so, Christianity too is facing a power struggle as it seeks to decide whether to remain connected with foreign assistance or struggle for itself.

The twenty first century sees one fifth of the entire global church located in Africa. While overall numbers of Christians have declined in Europe, Africa has seen continual growth.[32] Christianity can no longer be called a “Western” religion or a “white man’s” religion as the global center of Christianity continues to shift away from North American and Europe and to South America, Africa, and Asia. Andrew F. Walls makes the argument that in the same way the secular world of academia has learned that in order to understand modern Africa, “it is necessary to know something about Christianity” so in the theological world, “if one wishes to study modern Christianity, it is necessary to know something about Africa.”[33] The future of global Christianity is and will continue to be heavily influenced by African Christianity.

One example of this can be seen in what has been called “reverse mission.” African immigrants are now sending Christian missionaries back to their former colonial masters, and to other parts of the world and bringing new expressions of Christianity into de-Christianized European cities[34]. Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu’s research among diaspora churches found that “some of the largest congregations in Europe-Western and Eastern-are either founded by Africans or are led by people of African descent.” He also argues that, while they may have started as primarily immigrant churches, many have not remained so and have branched out into the surrounding communities and cultural groups. These African-led churches are bringing African Christianity outside of Africa and to the rest of the world, breathing new life into dwindling European churches. [35]

Similar to Europe, the U.S. is also seeing an influx of African Christians who see themselves not only as immigrants but as missionaries. Jannel Bakker (citing R. Stephen Warner) argues that “we are witinessing not so much the de-Christianization of American society as the de-Europeanization of American Christianity.”[36] This is expected to continue as the number and influence of African migrants continues to rise in the U.S. (and, incidentally, Africa has more Christians than the U.S. has people).

Now as we march forward in the 21st century, both Africa and Christianity will face a whole new onslaught of questions and challenges. As Africa becomes a new heartland for Christianity and whispers change to the global Christian church through missionaries and immigrants around the world, it is clear that the future of both will remain inextricably intertwined.

In conclusion, Africa has been an essential part of the history of Christianity since before its conception as a world religion. Africa’s contributions to the faith cannot be understated, nor would Christianity have been the same religion without it. Yet, neither would Africa have been the same without Christianity. They have evolved together. They have undergone struggles in trying to understand what they mean to each other and how to interpret and react to changing global conditions. It has a spotted and blood-stained history, colored by greed and disagreements. Empires have come and gone. Kings have lived and died. Yet it also has a glorious and powerful history of overcoming evil and surviving despite intense persecution, injustice, and marginalization and shaping global world events through the influence of both.


[1] Matthew 2:13-23


[2] Matthew 27:32


[3] Acts 2:8-10


[4] Acts 8:26-40


[5] “Christianity,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: Ancient Africa (prehistory to 500 CE) V I, ed. William Page, 5 vols. (USU: The Learning Source, LTD, 2005) 55.


[6] "Scillitan Martyrs." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2006. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 4 Nov. 2006 <http://search.eb.com/eb/article-9001247>.


[7] “Christianity,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: Ancient Africa Vol I 44


[8] "North Africa." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2006. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 4 Nov. 2006 <http://search.eb.com/eb/article-46477>.


[9] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Volume I, ed. John Middleton (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1997) 290.


[10] Bamber Gascoigne, Christianity: A History. (New York: Carroll & Graf Publishers, 2003) 35.


[11] “Christianity,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: Ancient Africa Vol I 55.


[12] “Nubia,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: African Kingdoms (500-1500 CE) Vol II


[13] "North Africa." Encyclopædia Britannica.


[14] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Vol I.


[15] Joseph E. Holloway, An Introduction To Classical African Civilizations. (Northridge: New World African Press, 2002) 93.


[16] Terri Koontz, Mark Sidwell, S.M. Bunker. World Studies for Christian Schools. (Greenville: Bob Jones University Press, 2000) 114.


[17] “Christianity, influence of,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: African Kingdoms (500-1500 CE) Vol II. 47-48.


[18] “Christianity, influence of,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: African Kingdoms (500-1500 CE) Vol II. 47-48.


[19] Paul Johnson, A History of Christianity. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1976) 170


[20]“Christianity, influence of,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: African Kingdoms (500-1500 CE) Vol II. 47-48.


[21] “Christianity, influence of,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: African Kingdoms (500-1500 CE) Vol II. 47-48.


[22]Bamber Gascoigne 125.


[23]Holloway, 152. .


[24] “Alvare II and Alvare III, Kings of Congo,” Documents from the African Past, ed. Robert O. Collins (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2001) 85-86.


[25] “Christianity, Influence of,” Encyclopedia of African History and Culture: From Conquest to Colonization (1500-1850 CE) Vol III. 52-54.


[26] [26] “Alvare II and Alvare III, Kings of Congo,” Documents from the African Past. 86.


[27] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Vol I. 292.


[28] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Vol I. 292.


[29] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Vol I. 291.


[30] “Christianity: Missionary Enterprise,” Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, Vol I. 292.


[31] Sanneh, 18, quoted by Harold A. Netland. “Introduction: Globalization and Theology Today,” Globalizing Theology: Belief and Practice in an Era of World Christianity. Craig Ott and Harold. A. Netland, eds. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006. 14-34.


[32] Timothy Tennent. Theology in the Context of World Christianity. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007. 8-9


[33] Andrew F. Walls. “Globalization and the Study of Christian History,” Globalizing Theology: Belief and Practice in an Era of World Christianity. Craig Ott and Harold. A. Netland, eds. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006. 70-82.


[34] Lily Kuo. “Africa’s ‘Reverse Missionaries’ are Bringing Christianity Back to the United Kingdom,” Quartz Africa. 11 Oct 2017. https://qz.com/africa/1088489/africas-reverse-missionaries-are-trying-to-bring-christianity-back-to-the-united-kingdom/ Accessed 11 October 2018.


[35] Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu. “African-led Christianity in Europe: Migration and Diaspora Evangelism,” Lausanne World Pulse Archives. July 2008. http://www.lausanneworldpulse.com/themedarticles-php/973/07-2008. Accessed 11 October, 2018.


[36] Janel Kragt Bakker. “Every Migrant a Missionary: Immigrant Christians in America,” Bearings Online. 20 March 2014. https://collegevilleinstitute.org/bearings/every-migrant-missionary-immigrant-christians-america/ Accessed 11 October 2018.

Diaspora

Diaspora

Alien, stranger in this world, Other

We left our home but our home has not left us. 

Home

Place of our dreams, place of our Selves, place of our blood.

That place which brands us, marks us, delineates us.

A pastiche of memories and meanings,

Constantly changing while remaining unchanged.

Home

That place we belong to which we no longer belong.

Our roots, our bondage, our past, our future.

It haunts our dreams and taints our tongues.

It shapes our souls and our social introductions.

“Where are you from?”

            The Dark Continent, The Motherland

            The place you do not know and have not known.

            Hidden in mists and misconceptions, 

            Ignored in ignorance, exoticized in effigy. 

Where are we from?

         Do you really want to know?

         Should we really tell you?

         How can you begin to understand?

         How can we begin to understand?

Where is Home?

         We knew once.  Then we left.

         Chasing dreams or chased from dreams.

         Seeking greener pastures, expelled from natal pastures.

         Pushed or pulled, drawn or compelled.

Where is Home?

           Both here and there.

          Neither here nor there.

          In the home of our birth, we have become Other.

           In our adopted home, we remain Other.

Where do we belong?   

      Everywhere.  Nowhere.  Anywhere.

      In a land not our home, in a land not our own.

      A land of aliens, strangers, and others

      In a land where we have become the alien, the stranger, the Other.

We are Diaspora

                 

Stories of Race

I didn’t know racism existed until I was 19. Call it naiveté. Call it my sheltered white bubble of middle class suburban Los Angeles. Growing up, I was taught that all people were the same and naively I believed it. I had friends of all types, though naturally I tended towards people more like me. They were many different races, but we were all of similar middle class bubbles. We shared culture and class and that was enough.

Race first broke into my thoughts one day while I was walking around my quiet neighborhood. I was home for a month in between my first semesters living in Kenya as a missionary. My paradigm of the world had already been shattered and transformed in more ways than I could count and yet it was about to begin again. As I walked my neighborhood, I saw spray painted on a wall the words “all n*** must die” accompanying a lynched stick figure. I stared in shock that anyone would even think of such a horrid thing. I thought of all my new, dear friends in Kenya and my heart ached. Then I went straight home, found a bottle of spray paint, and decided to commit my first act of graffiti.

Race is learned. We learn it through experience, through observation and most especially, through storytelling. Human differences always exist but what those differences mean and symbolize vary depending on context and what we are taught that they mean. We aren’t automatically born knowing the meaning of whiteness, blackness, femaleness or blue collar-ness. We learn it over time, based on our observations of the world around us, based on how others treat us, and through the stories we hear from our friends, family members, and strangers we talk to on the bus. Our sense of who we are is constantly evolving and changing as we grow and expand our life experiences and social circles.

I’ve had to learn whiteness. I never really thought about the symbolism attached to being white until I found myself outside of the bubble I grew up in. In my mind, all I knew of whiteness was the irritating propensity for terrible sunburns that my northern European ancestors bequeathed to me. I never thought of the privilege, symbolism, or status attached or how the color of my skin translates into how other people perceive me.

During the nearly four years I lived in East Africa, I was forced to learn whiteness. In this context, the colonial legacy and global ideas of power, wealth, privilege and beauty weave a powerful symbolic importance into whiteness. I found that my appearance had a meaning that I did not know or understand. Over years, I had to learn what it meant to be interpreted, categorized, and understood based on the color of my skin and the meanings and stereotypes that my skin translated to those who saw me.

In some cases my racial identity gave me automatic privilege: I could miss lines at the bank, use the bathroom at the nice hotel, and make friends with almost anyone. In other cases, my racial identity (especially when combined with my gender), made me an automatic target for exploitation: people befriended me to make money, I received a constant barrage of sexual innuendos, and almost weekly threats of robbery (either covert through pick pocketing or overt at knifepoint). In some cases, I was automatically an honored guest and in others I was a threat to potential donors and so had to be hidden away when other white people were around. My Ugandan fiancé received serious exhortations from some friends who warned him the danger of marrying a white woman. They had never met me. They did not know my character, personality, motivation or heart. They knew my color and that was enough.

Over the years, I’ve continued to negotiate the ambiguous, conflicting, and ever-evolving nature of the social construction of race in various contexts. I married a Ugandan man and then we moved to the U.S. We both had no idea what we were in for. Within his first few weeks in the U.S., my husband was followed and frisked by police after riding his bike in our neighborhood. He had a woman look at him, hold her nose as if he smelled, and intentionally walk around him on the sidewalk. He gets asked to show his ID on menial purchases on his credit card, purchases that I am never asked to show my ID on. He’s noticed people look at him in fear and cross the street so to avoid passing him on the sidewalk.

Working as a security guard in Hollywood really gave him experience of race in America. In a position of authority and trying to enforce rules, people’s politeness fades and racial tensions explode in attempts to wound and manipulate. He’s been called all manner of racially charged derogatory statements, yet the worst have always been from African Americans.

He’s had a long process learning to be simultaneously “black” and “not black” in the U.S. context. While sometimes labeled “black” in appearance, he is still “not black” in ethnicity. He’s been told again and again by some African Americans that he is “not black but African,” often with a tone of disgust.

What is race? What does it mean in our Southern Californian context? Who defines it? Who is excluded and included from the various titles and labels? How is it used? We are still learning.
I conducted my ethnographic fieldwork for my MA in anthropology among the Ugandan diaspora in SoCal. I tried to learn about how their sense of social identity, or their sense of who they are, evolves through their immigration to the U.S. I was privileged to sit and hear stories about their struggles and victories in learning life in a new context which often does not understand them and which they also struggle to understand. We got to process life together. Race came up time and time again as one concept that was foreign to them and that they were still trying to grapple with.

I found it fascinating when I would ask if they had experienced racism how many of them said, “No…I mean yes….I mean maybe…” and then they would tell me a story and ask me if I thought it was racism. Or they told me stories others had told them of racism and then ask me if people in California think that way too. They were using storytelling as a means of understanding their experiences and they were still in the process of learning how to interpret what race means for them.

So much of racism is subtle and unconscious. There may be times when it is overtly done, but in our “politically correct” climate, more often than not, it’s much more covert. There are times when the racist behavior isn’t even recognized by the one who did it. There are times when the person it is done against may or may not perceive or interpret it. There is also the challenge of perceptions of identity. I have my own sense of identity, but then I a sense of who I think you are. Then I also have a sense of who I think that you think I am. Perceived identities don’t need to be accurate to be powerful. It’s a murky, layered, volatile topic.

I also found it fascinating in my interviews of and studies of African Diasporas in different cities how the racial climate of each city can contribute to a different social identity for immigrants. You see, race is not always a “black and white” category (double meaning intended). Blackness (or whiteness or brownness) may have different meanings in Los Angeles and Minneapolis and Birmingham and Boise. The social, political, historical and economic context of each location contributes to creating different layers of meaning or shades of texture to the expression and interpretation of our social categories.

I’ve been pondering a lot about these racial categories the last few years. I mean, besides my African husband, I now think about it because of my son. I think about it every time I have to fill out those stupid forms on every hospital questionnaire, job application, birth certificate, and school enrollment form. “What race are you?” with a series of boxes. If race doesn’t matter than why does it matter?

These days I usually rebel and choose “prefer not to answer.” I don’t want to be categorized. I don’t want my son to be categorized. I want to avoid all the corresponding layers of stereotypes and meanings, but can we avoid it? Yes, my son is Swedish, German, Scottish, English, Dutch (and a host of other easily-sunburned European countries)…and he I also Alur, from NW Uganda, but that all can be encompassed under the label “black” with my heritage excluded from his identity. The U.S. has a historical and social context which makes Barack Obama a “Black” president but I struggle with it. His mother’s identity and heritage are not recognized. There are meanings attached to his appearance that I cannot begin to comprehend or understand.

We simultaneously overestimate and underestimate the importance of race. No wonder we struggle as a nation to understand ourselves. Who defines blackness? What does blackness mean? How do I prepare my son for his identity in between categories and meanings and titles? I don’t think I can fully because I don’t know what it means. Those meanings, also, are constantly evolving around him and in him. Wherever we live, the neighborhood, school, and friends he interacts with will shape his concept of who he is. Yet I hope to give him stories from both sides of his heritage to help him have pride in all aspects of his bi-racial, international, cross-cultural identity.

I am deeply concerned watching the current racial discussions in our nation. I am concerned that race can be used to determine guilt or innocence, on both sides of the divide.

I am concerned when conflicts in vastly different cities that are created by the intersection between class, race, ethnicity, and the use of authority are all labelled as being purely about race. I get worried when I see that the Dallas police officers are punished for the actions of police officers in Baton Rouge and Minnesota. People, places, and systems of authority are too complex to simplify under a single, homogenous story.

Stories are powerful. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie talks about what she calls the “danger of a single story” or the way we can categorize people into one particular stereotype and do not take into account a complexity of viewpoints and perspectives that people inhabit. “Show a people as one thing, as only one thing over and over again and that is what they become,” she says. She talks about how “the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue but that they are incomplete.” Too often our stories of different social categories are incomplete.

 Race in America is not a single story. Race is contested, evolving, constructed and reconstructed. It impacts people and places in different ways. Yes, race is an issue and one that sorely needs addressing, but it is not the only issue and it is shaped and inflamed by an interlocking variety of additional conflicts. How much is race, how much is class and how much is a conflict over response to authority are questions that need to be addressed in each situation. I cannot assume a single story.

We are in the midst of an identity crisis as a nation. Past injustices and deeply felt griefs have been veneered with a thin layer of political correctness which leads to politeness but not healing. An absence of conflict is not always a sign of peace. I look around and see people who are hurting and people who are afraid. Some of the worst atrocities of history have been rationalized by fear. People who are afraid can do terrible things because they are afraid. The more violence, the more fear. The more fear, the more violence.

Fear of people who are different from us can sometimes be overcome through relationship and storytelling. Storytelling can create our prejudices and biases as much as it can help us overcome our prejudices and biases. To really understand the complexity of the people and situations in our nation, we need to provide opportunities to hear from all sides and perspectives. We also need to put ourselves into the shoes of others with hearts that seek to understand and humbly learn.

We need to mourn for injustice and mourn for past griefs and present pains. When I read over our brutal and unillustrious racial history as a nation, my heart breaks over the terrible injustice that one human being can do to another. Those deep wounds must be acknowledged. Simply because a beating has stopped doesn’t mean the bruising is gone away.

We also need to think about our own interaction with and process of understanding race, class, and authority. What does it mean in our context, in our city? How can we seek to bring healing and reconciliation in our context? How can we strive to understand the stories of those who are different than us? What does justice mean to all parties involved?

Some of my Ugandan friends here in L.A. shared their response to perceived prejudice based on their color or accent. They said that getting to really know people helps overcome some of that prejudice. Some shared that their religious convictions and assurance of their “identity in Christ” helps them to navigate discrimination and choose forgiveness. A few shared with me how they realize that there are good people and bad people everywhere in the world. In Uganda, they know some terrible Ugandans who can give all the others a bad name and so when they meet with Americans who are unpleasant, they figure it’s just a particular person has had a bad day or is a jerk. Yet, they are Ugandan and not African American so they come at race from a different perspective. Theirs is a different story.

What is the way forward? I do not know for sure. It’s still a process for all of us, I guess. One of the best places to start is building relationships across tribal, ethnic, racial, and class lines. I have many beloved friends of various tribal, ethnic, cultural and racial backgrounds. They love me not because of my color or my stereotypes but because they know me. They know the awkward, eccentric, messy Tara and are friends with me because of who I am. It is mutual. I love them because I know them and not because of what they symbolize or represent. While we may not have naturally been friends or found similarities, over time through sharing of food, jokes, and tears, we build a friendship. I’ve heard their stories and they have heard mine. We are able to learn from each other. I am richer for having them in my life. We need more opportunities for us all to process our similarities and differences as human beings with each other.  We have to listen to the complexities of our different stories.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says that “stories can break the dignity of a people or repair it,” and now is a time more than ever that our stories need to build bridges instead of tearing them down. I pray that we, as a nation, make space to hear the complexity of stories that are around us.

For Further Reading:

• Audrey Smedley, “Origin of the Idea of Race”
• Tim Wise, “Racism: Divide and Conquer” 
• "History of Whiteness”
• Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, “Danger of a Single Story” 
• Anthropod, “#Blacklivesmatter:Anthropologists on Protest Policing and Race Based Violence”

Works Referenced:

Brewer, Marilynn B.
2001 The Many Faces of Social Identity: Implications for Political Psychology. Political Psychology 221(1):115-125. Retrieved from JSTOR.

Buchignani, Norman
1980 The Social and Self-Identities of Fijian Indians in Vancouver. Urban Anthropology 9(1):75-97. Retrieved from JSTOR.

Copeland-Carson, Jacqueline
2004 Contemporary Ethnography: Creating Africa in America: Translocal Identity in an Emerging World City. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Retrieved from Ebrary.

Hutchinson, Janis Faye, ed.
1997 Cultural Portrayals of African Americans: Creating an Ethnic/Racial Identity. Pp 139-150. Westport: Bergin & Garvey.