Niggas in Africa By Ayana Haaruun

I was thrilled to visit Soweto- the infamous black township located outside Johannesburg, South Africa. With a population of almost 900,000, Soweto came to the world’s attention in 1976, after mass protest erupted in response to the apartheid government’s educational policies. The Soweto Riots brought international attention to apartheid and resulted in economic sanctions from abroad.

With so many black faces, and pastel-colored, ranch-style brick homes, Soweto looked a lot like Compton, California. I joined thousands of people who attended the Soweto Festival, a well-organized, annual outdoor event. I knew that Soweto was a hub for African popular culture, and hip-hop, so I made sure my braids were tight, and my sneakers were clean.

At the Soweto Festival, I visited vendors, watched musical performances, grooved to South African house music, and eyed the impressive creations of South African fashion designers. It was refreshing to see young men dressed “cool” in clothing that actually fit.  Despite the heat, the stylish young women didn’t seem to be overly concerned with showcasing their figures either.  And South Africa is the home of the Hottentots—with the original “badunkadunks.”

Traveling abroad continues to offer me a fresh perspective on African-American culture and its’ global impact.  In France, when people learned that I was American, they’d shout random names like “Malcolm X,” “Muhammad Ali,” and “Michael Jackson.” There I learned how the African American struggle had inspired oppressed people around the world, and felt proud to be identified with liberation and a distinctive “cool.”

Ten years later, in South Africa, when I tell African people that I’m from the U.S. they call me a nigger. The first time it happened, I was talking to a group of teenage boys in a rural town.  As soon as I said I was from America, they repeatedly shouted “Neega”, “Neega”, “Neega.” Astonished, I explained to them that “nigger” was a bad word and the derogatory equivalent of “kaffir.”  Looking puzzled, they told me they always hear the n-word from their favorite rappers, Tupac, JaRule, 50 Cent, and Jay-Z. 

The other day I had a conversation about dating with Amukelani, a young black South African woman. In her Shangaan accent she said, “I ain’t no gold digger but I don’t want no broke “neega.” White South African comedians are even using the n-word. It’s ironic that African-Americans survived the transatlantic slave trade—one of the biggest atrocities in human history—but can’t seem to stop using the slave masters insults to refer to one another. And, with the help of hip-hop, now we’ve got the whole word calling us niggers.

I remember being proud that I belonged to a people who, despite circumstance, influenced the world.  Now, I’m embarrassed by the irresponsible way in which my generation has managed that global influence.  Don’t get me wrong—I love hip-hop music.  It’s the form of cultural expression that I most closely identify with.  When I feel homesick, I listen to Common or Lupe Fiasco, and imagine being back on Chicago’s Southside.  

The problem comes, when I try to share my music, with people outside my culture.  Even with a well-rounded music collection— I cringe at the repetitive n-word, b-word, and references to drugs, crime, and explicit sex. I listen to most hip-hop in my headphones because I’m too embarrassed to play it in front of my white American colleagues or South African youth. 

In a fragile society struggling to educate itself, build black wealth and recover from apartheid, pulling up next to a young African man, blasting Notorious B.I.G.’s “Ten Crack Commandments” from his car stereo, made me very uncomfortable. Whether in South Africa or America —we can all do without a hundred different colloquialisms for selling drugs, black-on-black violence, and taking advantage of black women.

It’s equally shameful, to explain to South African women why African American men are “so mean” and refer to women as “bitches” all the time. In contrast, as a standard, when South African men greet me, they say “Min ghani sis” or “Hello sister.” Men introduce their close friends as “my brother”— black South Africans don’t call one another “kaffirs.”

In Africa, the damaging effects of slavery on African Americans becomes more obvious. I was speechless when a white South African man said to me, “The difference between ‘you guys’ and the Africans is they know exactly who they are.” I continue to learn the meaning of this painful statement.

Sure, I can take pride in talking with African youth about the greatest MC’s of all time, the best hair relaxers, and the freshest urban clothing. When the conversation’s over however, they return to speaking Zulu, Shangaan, Xhosa or another African language. We lost our African connection: our languages, history, and traditions.  Yet, one of the greatest things we have is our story. Unfortunately, we’re not doing a good job of telling that.