Learning the Most Important Lesson of My Life by Ayana Haaruun

Right before I came to South Africa, my brother paid me a visit. Sitting on a makeshift bed palette on the floor of my empty house, I looked up at him, standing with his arms folded across his denim work overalls.  Trying to understand his “weird” sister’s motivation for such a long and far-away journey, he asked in a concerned voice, “Are you going to Africa to find yourself?”

What I’ve “found” in the few months I’ve been in South Africa, is the greatest anger; the highs of unspeakable joy; and the most profound sense of collective love. In the midst of animals, exotic birds, and beautiful flowers, I’ve fallen in love with Africa. On every level emotional, intellectual and spiritual, I feel a connection that belies my understanding. 

In the beauty shop where I get my hair braided for less than $10; on walks where mountains and clear blue skies make me think of heaven; while sitting in crowded taxis jamming to music—I think how wonderful it is to be here.

With black South Africans I experience a genuine sense of humanity, family and community that I don’t in America.  People greet each other on the street.  If you need a ride someone will pick you up.  Extended family and neighbors collectively raise the community’s children. For so many reasons, Africa just makes sense to me.

My experience however is colored by the two realities I live in.  In my professional world where I live and work with white Americans, I struggle to temper the outrage and joy I experience in post-apartheid South Africa, while managing racial differences. My African world is full of natural beauty, black pride and the problems faced by post-colonial African nations. 

What’s become blatantly clear however is the notion that race outweighs nationality. Confronted continually with the complexity of African-American identity, I recognize that my American passport has little on my African nose, lips and hair.

In addition, I’m amazed at how easily I bond with people in country 8,000 miles away, and struggle to find connection with other Americans who grew up across town from me. Beyond the obvious fact that we look alike- with Africans, I share in a common struggle and understanding. It’s a bond that often manifests itself non-verbally; in nods, winks, and mannerisms that speak worlds of information.  Without rehearsal, we understand things like what not to say in front of white people, how to behave as a guest in someone’s home, and to treat elders with respect.

Whenever time allows, I  “steal away” with my African friends. We spend weekends listening to music, gossiping about black celebrities, and watching black movies. Last weekend, I need my hair braided, so I took a crowded mini-bus to the neighboring black town.  On the bus, two teenage boys sat in the back rapping a verse from a popular hip-hop song.  On beat, I responded completing the verse. Amazed that I knew the song, they smiled with wide grins. For the rest of the ride, we conversed about music and business while watching giraffes, zebras, and baboons alongside the road.

Later at a small beauty shop, I tried out a little pan-African trade.  I convinced the owner to trade black hair magazines and products from the U.S. for a reduced braiding fee.  The shop’s owner, a portly Xhosa woman, admired my “American” kind of business smarts. There, I was treated like a distant relative— a cousin that they’ve never met, but seen on television and in magazines.  It wasn’t until the salon goers asked my surname and tribe, a common practice amongst South Africans, that my peculiar identity as a “tribeless” African was considered.

By evening, my friend arranged for Mr. Anjos, a popular young entrepreneur and owner of a fried-chicken restaurant to fetch me from the salon. After recovering my lost cell phone, drove us to a gas station where he convinced his friends to drive us back to the neighboring town. I’m continually surprised by the willingness of African people to go out of their way to help others.

On the ride back to town, I thought about famous people who also journeying to the motherland— Malcolm X, Oprah Winfrey, Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley, Muhammad Ali, and Richard Pryor. I wondered if they too were inspired to strive for greatness.

Already Africa has changed my life.  It’s an overwhelming feeling to be amongst so many people that look like me, and have histories and traditions that date back thousands of years. I have a love for African people so strong it feels like it was injected in my DNA.   Moreover, this love affair is accompanied by a haunting sense of ancestry, and dutiful responsibility. I feel more determined to fight for liberation and use what I have for the benefit of African people. To understand where my people came from, how they live, and how we got into the situation were in, is the most important lesson of my life.