Good morning world! Noelle Khalila is born again. This time I pushed myself out of the womb of my mind, but my mother, and by extension my father, played no less of a role than when they pushed me out 25 years ago. At my reBirth party on Sunday I had both of my parents by my side. Particularly because I live in the Bahamas, this is no mean feat. Bahamians, who identify themselves above all as African people, find themselves in a lot of problems; they often get the most heat right inside their homes. I know a friend of a friend who was sent to Sandilands, the mental health hospital, by his parents because he chose to disassociate himself with Christianity and embrace his African culture. They believed he was possessed by the devil.
I did not do anything too radical at my party, in my world view at least, simply some African drumming, talk of ancestors and a lot of Africa-conscious people, but in the Bahamas it is a rare thing to find that sort of community being fully self-expressed, and supported by their elders. In another home, many of the things I said and did would be certain grounds for rebuke, not just a parent’s rebuke, but the rebuke and judgement of God.
I interviewed the Prime Minister at a press conference the other day, and the one question he had for me after the formalities were over was: ‘Why do women do their hair like that?’ He was referring to my locks. Before the press conference began, an FNM worker outside asked me: ‘Are those for your religion or fashion?’ I said, neither, they are an African expression. He was baffled by that. When I invited a group of my male friends to the party, one of them asked: ‘Are there going to be any normal girls there, not those weird (Afro-centric) ones.’ He was the same one to ask after my reBirth: ‘now I hope to see the old Noelle back.’
I am sorry for him, because I never hope to see the ‘old Noelle’ back. Noelle Khalila was always ‘Afro-centric’, in a sense, but the ‘old Noelle’ was identified with being an African woman mainly on an intellectual plane. Intellectually I knew my ancestors came from Africa, I understood my history and heritage and I chose to express elements of that, but I did not experience the living culture of Africa. Africa, with a few exceptions, was for the most part a historical culture. The new Noelle is unapologetically an African woman and being African is not just an exercise in Afro-centric intellectualism. It is a livity. It is a way of being. It is an embrace of a material culture that is still alive and well. It is a creative exercise in living authentically.
Being African is not something I can try on and take off. It is not something I can wash off. It is what I am. Just because you do not acknowledge what you are does not mean you are anything else. It just means you are walking around with only have of yourself. Acknowledging myself as an African and embracing my entire being does not change what I already was, it just means my self-expression gains more power and my beingness becomes more manifest in the physical world.
I am convinced, Bahamians suffer from a severe case of self-hate. They are some of the most prejudice and intolerant people in the world when it comes to African people. I read a comment online by a man called Stanley ‘something’ Jr. (I soon find back the link on the Tribune website.) He was not even ashamed to identify himself. He said the Bahamas is for Bahamians and all the Haitians, Jamaicans, Cubans and Africans should get out of his country. Now isn’t that something; he wants to expel himself.
When I was child, my parents’ friends used to criticize them for being too liberal. I suspect they continue to get the same flack. But I am so grateful they have never questioned who or what I am. They have never forced me to conform. More importantly, they have always supported me. That has given me extra power to be a positive force in the community.
Finding a space to be fully self-expressed as an African in the Bahamas is virtually impossible. The community has had to create space. I am fortunate enough to have a supportive family, enabling me to offer my space. Give thanks to the elders: my parents, far more precious than gold; and to the ancestors who paved the way.