An abyss of shitty men

No lie and true story. Lol. I feel enlightened.
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I've been robbed. I know the culprits but justice will never be served

I love reading. Books, in my opinion, provide answers to the questions we struggle with on a daily basis. My childhood was filled with books, education, playing, curious, discipline, and being bad (yes, I was the baddest of the pack). I really liked school because I was able to learn, interact with others, and prove just how smart I was (still am). My curiosity lead to a desire to want to know everything and search for these answers in books, among other places.

• Age of 4 -I was able to read on my own. I couldn't write very well or neatly then (or now) but I could read. Reading, besides being a hobby is now an obsession. Books have brought solace, they are exciting, continue to be challenging, and most importantly inspirational.
  fast forward.
• age 11- I still enjoy reading but it's different now. New country,new people, new environment, etc. Culture shock and nostalgia led to isolation as the only way of survival; I've become an introvert. I am bitter. I read a lot, write letters. Integration is a failure. I think about home often and wish I were there instead of here. I am angry. I didn't choose to be here. I would give anything to iron my uniform, rest for an hour after school (if I had morning classes), walk in the hot Yaounde sun and buy a sucette, pay 500 for a bus that's packed to capacity and is going full speed on the main road from behind the post office where I might get kidnapped if I'm not careful, try to convince my dad to let me watch Melrose Place although I have already seen Beverly Hills AND Rosa, prove to my older brother and his posse that because I am equally as good as him and his friends at everything. Therefore, I should be allowed to join them in all their debauchery or else... swoon over one of my older brother's friends because they are so hot to my 10 year old self who wants to marry them and cook for them, convince myself that if my cooking can't get them, surely my sexiness will keep them, learning the dance move to the newest Petit Pays song or any Congolese song, eat suya or roasted maize, and stay up on new years eve, the one time during the year that drunks won't be called drunks or made fun of. They've put me in ESL. I'm pissed the fuck off. It's bad enough that they put me in 6th grade instead of 8th but W.T.F.! I'm really angry. Whatever, I'll suck it up and do whatever they want. SMH-I went from placing in the top of my class to been the last coco. Crying won't do much for me.
• Age 15- full integration. I'm completely American. I don't remember being 11. Age 5 is a long lost memory. I'm still reading. At this stage, primarily literature that I have to read for school and I enjoy most of it. I am also challenged so I'm happy. As far as I'm concerned, this is the only way I can survive and be integrated. This will make me American. I only phone home on holidays. All things Cameroon are bad. I've stopped writing letters. I don't remember my classmates' names. I wonder what everyone is doing and if they think about me. This doesn't happen as often as it did at age 11.
• Age 21- I'm college educated and graduating soon. French 101 Monday and Wednesday changes my life in more ways than I expected. By the end of the semester, I'm a French major thanks to Andre Beauzethier-French professor extraordinaire, brilliant, well read, future advisor, amazingness, etc. Through him and his courses, I am introduced to an obscene amount of literature. African Literature. Senghor, Damas, Ba, Cesaire, Camus, Fanon, Kine, Diop and many others. W.T.F. ugh. I'm pissed that no one, in the past 10 years EVER mentioned any of this to me. Regardless, I. Love.It. Through his courses, I am becoming okay with being African. Africa=intellect, culture, love, peace, hot men, travel, adventure, proverbs, hips, FGM, anthropology. I learn about those who have come before me, those here with me are writing. They are writing about subjects which pertain to the past affecting my future, and are writing on the now. I am in love, mesmerized, proud, African. I have found the 5 year old in me. My memories of my childhood and becoming stronger. Cameroon. Senegal. They are both extremely difficult but I digg it. The loathe has stopped. I'm trying to make sense of this. reconnecting. A rebirth of sorts.
  

This is what I thought about today and it made me angry.
I'm pissed off and I feel as though I've been robbed of my identity and have been taught to feel that my culture is inferior. No one ever told me about Mongo Beti, Ferdinanrd Oyono, Henri Lopes, Kahlida Messaoudi, Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and others in an academic setting. They never hesitated to teach me Emerson, Thoreau, Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, Salinger, Frost, Kerouac, and Orwell. Sure they threw in Angelou, Morrison, Wright, Hansbury and others ( I hardly related to them). Seven years of public school education and no one ever the Africans or referenced critical events such as the Algerian War of Independence, Negritude, or the severe, damaging, and often ignored effects of colonialism on both the identity and psyche of those trying to live in a post colonial world then and now, or the experience of first generation immigrants living in the diaspora.
Needless to say, I am pissed off.

I seriously think that the notion of America as a melting pot works; theoretically. Those of us who are immigrants or whose parents are immigrants are never taught about our culture, history, etc. in school (elementary and high school). It is rare that those writing about issues we care about or can relate to are discussed or even mentioned in the classroom.
smdh!

YEstella