Last year around this time, I was spending a quiet Saturday exploring the wonders of the internet. This day, my meandering led to Groupon. I clicked on the site’s “Getaways” section and that’s when I saw it. A picture of the Sphinx advertised an 8 day tour through Egypt. Instantly, my heart started pounding. Historically, that type of physiology reaction is a clear sign from the Divine that I need to take action. So I knew at that moment, one way or another, I was going on this trip.

When I ran the idea by a close friend, he reminded me that I didn’t have any money and therefore, wouldn’t be able to go. That was the last, little push I needed. If I went for no other reason than to prove him wrong, I was going. When I told people I was going to Egypt, everyone assumed I was going with my sister or several of my friends but I was going alone. I had to go it alone because no one had the money/desire to go when I wanted to leave. While I would have loved the share the experience with someone else, I couldn’t forgo the experience by waiting.

After some borrowing and negotiating with the travel agency who posted the deal, everything was set. I was going to Egypt. I was set to leave in November, around Thanksgiving.

But then ish went left. About three months before my trip, the political protests increased and in the eyes of many around the world Egypt became synonymous with smoky streets, screaming protestors and aggressive military personnel. My family was concerned. Everyone who had heard about my trip called and asked me to postpone it. I wasn’t happy about it but eventually I obliged. My new trip would be in April.

When the time came I had my anxieties. As yet another black girl who can’t swim, I felt a little uneasy flying over the Atlantic Ocean for hours on end. But as soon as I got on the plane, a sense of peace came over me and I knew that I would be safe and protected throughout my journey.

The trip exceeded my expectations.

Looking at temples and statues that were still standing nearly 4,000 years after construction was awe inspiring. Sailing down the Nile, a river that watered and nourished the original man, the first civilization, was breathtaking and at times a bit emotional. Staring at the pyramids trying to figure how the ancient Egyptians moved and stacked blocks weighing several tons was baffling. Seeing the opulence and grandeur of all the treasure from King Tut’s tomb was amazing. Kanye was really onto something when he told us it’s in black folks’ soul to rock that gold.

But more than the exploration of history traveling to Egypt, as leaving the country often does, even gave me an opportunity to do some reflecting about myself. I remember the first time I went to Africa, Ghana to be exact, I was surprised to learn that the people there didn’t regard me as black. In Egypt it was the complete opposite. People were sure that I was Nubian, or Sudanese or even Latina. I realized, that while in America brown skinned people might be “minorities;” but in the global context, brown skin is the norm. And while I smiled or chuckled at their inaccurate guesses, I realized that I could have been any of those things. It was there in Egypt that I recognized my “brown girl privilege”: the ability to travel and blend in with a variety of people.

 Nell Painter, an Ivy League educated woman, has had a very celebrated career. From her published art and literary pieces to her tenure as a professor at Princeton University, this 70 year old Houston, Texas native, has seen and experienced enough to pass along her wisdom to the next generation. In an exclusive interview with MadameNoire writer, Zahra, she shares some of her insight on the imaginary concept of race, succeeding as a black woman and being optimistic. She stops short of kicking Zahra in the butt, trying to get her to grasp certain concepts. You’ll kick yourself if you don’t read all the way through.

This interview takes place at Nell’s Newark, NJ studio.

Zahra: I’m oversimplifying here but you said in 2003, before you retired, that black women scholars are somewhat invisible when it comes to positive recognition. I think black women and positive recognition have a contentious relationship in general.

Nell: I think that’s a very good way of putting it. That it’s a fraught relationship. That black women scholars cannot take recognition for granted even if they do all the things they are supposed to do. But on the other hand, I can’t complain about my career. I had a wonderful career. I was rewarded. So clearly you can’t say that if you do all of the right things no matter what you will not get rewarded. Social scientists say that optimists and pessimists go through the world differently…that pessimists see the world more correctly but optimists get more stuff done because they just keep at it.

Zahra: Uh huh. Wow.

Nell: If you try more, you get more. The other side of it, and this is something that artists say, is if you’re not getting turned down multiple times you’re not making enough applications. Pessimists will say “My god, what are my chances, which are miniscule” and not bother to try. I think that’s the kind of relationship between recognition and black women. That you have to be an optimist to think something’s going to work out and just keep trying because if you concentrate on the really awful actual facts of life, then you’ll just crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head.

Zahra: (laughter). That’s where I end up at times. I want to talk about place. For some reason, place came to me when I was thinking of you. Where do you feel comfortable? I mean it’s hard to feel at home sometimes.

Nell: You know it’s almost a commonplace that we don’t feel at home.

Zahra: The human condition?

Nell: I wouldn’t go that far. But I think it’s an American condition. Part of it has to do with so much migration in our history. So when I think about my friends and myself and my parents, everybody’s got migration/immigration in their past. That just sets us up for feeling either that our roots are shallow or that we have no roots. All of that is to say that I do have a hard time feeling at home.

Zahra: Even you?

Nell: What do you mean even me? (laughs).

Zahra: For me, you’re a celebrity.

Nell: That’s sweet.

Zahra: You know we put our celebrities on a pedestal. So even you! I am taken aback by what I have read of your parents: their intellect, values and longevity. We know that there is a very social reason for inequality and some argue a genetic basis for it, but I wonder if we should not talk more about parenting.

Nell: Well it depends on what the conversation is. The last time we met I kept trying to shake you out of going so quickly and easily into categories because the categories you’re using, the categories Americans use, are so gross. Gross in the sense that you can’t think of yourself in a sophisticated, careful, sensitive way if what you’re saying about yourself or thinking about yourself applies to millions and millions of other people.

Zahra: I mean, Nell, that is so true right—the social construction of race. It just is. It’s so delicious to me, what you just said because I’m a thinker. BUT damn it when I live my life I’m living in these categories, perceptions, taxonomies. We are constantly checking boxes.

Nell: Actually, we are not constantly checking boxes.

Zahra: Hmm. That’s true. I’m thinking job and school applications.

Nell: These are things that you do at most three times a year.

One of the most frightening and detrimental things that can happen in a relationship is when one or both parties begin to lose their individuality because their lives have become so consumed with their partner. Maintaining your own identity while being in such a close relationship is challenging. I know because I’ve been there, several times. But, for time’s sake, I’ll only go into detail regarding one of the more significant experiences. You know, THEE experience. The one that made me say something has got to change and immediately.

I had always prided myself in being a great and supportive girlfriend. Regardless of what he (whatever guy I was exclusively seeing at the time) needed, I would be there for him. At this particular time I had been dating a musician, a bass player, which meant that my weekends consisted of sitting front row and center at concerts and open mic nights. It also meant that a few of my week nights consisted of hanging out around late night rehearsals and studio sessions. And of course, the countless hours spent in Guitar Center and Sam Ash. He “wanted his girl to be there” while he made his magic happen and so I was there. No questions asked.

And then, one August morning, something happened. It was the first day of classes, my junior year in college and my professor requested that as an icebreaker, each person team up with a classmate whom they’ve never met before and for five minutes share some things about yourself and then each team will get in front of the class and share out about the new person whom they had the chance to know within the allotted time. As I sat down in front of the girl who would be my teammate, I thought surely this exercise wouldn’t be a problem, but as she rambled off some facts about herself and what she liked to in her spare time, I became mortified. I searched my memory bank for things I did for fun and leisure that didn’t involve my bass-player boyfriend and I could barely come up with a handful.

That night I stared at my ceiling with my stomach in knots as I realized that with the exception of school and work, my entire life revolved around him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hooked up with my friends for a girls night out or read a great book. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember the last time I held a real conversation with one of my friends, let alone spend time with them. He had become my best friend by default as he was the only person I seemed to have time for. My life had become so consumed and wrapped up in my boyfriend’s that I barely knew who I was anymore. It was a hard thing to come to terms with, but I even had to admit that my vision for my future had even become disoriented as a result of my relationship with him. As I listened to his big dreams of being a legendary musician who traveled the world and played for popular recording artists, my dreams of being a journalist and author somehow began to fade into the background.

Needless to say, the relationship ended not long after this revelation. And guess what? I was pretty much alone and I had no one to blame but myself for forfeiting everything else in my life for the man who had entered my life for that particular season. He made his grand entrance, exited stage left and I was left to reap the consequences for my actions. Once I got my life back on track, I vowed to never allow myself to get lost in another person like that again.

Years later as I reflect on that situation, I realize that it is more common than not for women to lose themselves in their relationships. We are passionate and giving creatures who love hard, but any healthy relationship has balance and that is where many of us seem to go wrong. For some women, maintaining individuality while in a relationship comes naturally, for others it is a challenge, but it is not impossible. Here are a four realizations that helped me to get a grip on my unhealthy relationship behavior.

1. “Me” is time is just as important as “we” time when it comes to maintaining a healthy relationship.

2. Healthy relationships consist of two whole people that come together, not two incomplete people looking to be made whole. 

3. Space isn’t always a bad thing. 

4. Maintaining your relationships with God, family and friends is absolutely essential. 

Coming to the realization that you’ve lost yourself in your relationship isn’t exactly the end of the world. It may just mean that you have a little soul searching to do in order to reconnect and reunite with who you really are. Try not to panic, it happens to the best of us. The task at hand may not be easy, but I’d say the lady who mistakenly got lost is certainly worth finding.

Jazmine Denise is a writer living in New York. Follow her on Twitter @jazminedenise

All photos are courtesy of Shutterstock.

Alice965

I can remember so vividly being about four or five years old and having a favorite cousin, Shaniqua (Yes, I have a cousin named Shaniqua). Oh, how I loved Shaniqua. I followed her everywhere! Everything that she did, I did. If she laughed a certain way, I laughed that certain way. When she came home from kindergarten learning to read, I was determined to learn how to read, too. I used to be thrilled on holidays like Easter Sunday and Mother’s Day when our grandmother would go out and buy us matching dresses for church. I mean, I wanted to be just like her when I “grew up,” which was ridiculously hilarious and ironic because we were only two years apart. As time progressed, I matured and developed my own identity.

While the whole copycat syndrome is very natural and normal among small children as they begin to develop their own identities, what I find disturbing is how prevalent it is among adults. There is a shockingly large amount of grown women who must have never properly transitioned from the whole copycat phase as children and are still walking around imitating one another to this day. Yes, they do exist and you probably know a few of them personally. You know the ones who you hate to go shopping with because the entire time that you are browsing the store they’re behind you picking up, examining, and purchasing everything you pick up in the store? Yeah, them. They have to get some kind of variation of what you picked up, don’t they? Or, how about the ones who have no shame and will show up to work with the same exact dress or shoes you wore last week?

Having a copycat can be flattering and even somewhat amusing, at first. However, after awhile, it becomes outright annoying. I mean honestly, what normally adjusted woman imitates another woman constantly? There has to be some sort of imbalance there. I used to think that the only real issue with having a copycat was the fact that it was annoying, however, I am beginning to feel a little differently about that. If you can’t even trust her enough to discuss future plans out of fear that she may run out and go do it first, you probably don’t need her around. What is the point in having a “friend” around who is constantly studying and looking to imitate you? After awhile you begin to question why. Is she looking to replace you? Does she want want your life? Something about that situation is plain old wrong and a bit creepy. While there is no way that she can replace you in the eyes of the people in your life because you are one of a kind, she can certainly try, which could potentially cause unnecessary heartache and grief for you if she is ruthless enough. But, then the question arises, how do you handle such a childish situation like an adult? You can’t deal with it as you would in preschool by pushing her and yelling “Stop doing everything that I do!” or you will look just as crazy as she does.

I remember my mom lecturing me about a copycat I once had, whom she’d nicknamed  “Single Black Female.” In the process she said to me, “If someone wants to try to emulate you, you can’t really stop them, but you’d be a fool to sit around and pass them the playbook.”  What she meant by that is you can’t control someone else’s actions, but you can control the access and insight that you grant them into your life. Feed her with a long-handled spoon. In simple terms, put some distance there. If you value this woman as a friend, don’t go starting a fight, just gracefully and gradually back off. If she’s someone new working your last nerve, keep her at an arm’s length or move on entirely. In due time you’ll turn around and she’ll be off imitating someone else.

More on Madame Noire!

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• MN Exclusive: Kesha Nichols Dishes on Tami’s Apology, Dating a Show Producer, and How Editing Works on Reality TV
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A few years ago, when I was in the basement of a barbershop waiting to get a chop, I waited with a young 20-something black woman who had a 3-year old running about the shop. My barber Janet asked her of her boy’s name, and this is what she had to say:

“Q’Kavarimantis.”

Another older sista waiting – doing what older sistas do – asked the mother: “Well, does he even know how to spell his own name???”

“He’s working on it,” she said sweetly. “He’s got about half of it down.”

As of late, it seems like I’ve been having many conversations related to the tendency of black parents – especially of humble background – to come up with grammatical manglings of names masquerading as creative expression. I’ve heard a small band of defenders explain that it’s a display of our cultural eccentricities and creativity that reveal names like the monstrosities above. Q’Kavarimantis. Really???

Being creative is cool, but I think we’ve come to a point–black folks and all folks really (yes, you too celebrities)–where the names we’re choosing for our children are going a bit too far. Here are why these damn names can be a big problem:

1. Pointless creativity: Coming up with names that run in the family or stand for something deep is one thing; subverting them as a result of trying to be “unique” is dead wrong. Changing a perfectly classic name like “Alexander” to “Alezandear” and keeping the same pronunciation is not the righteous way to go. Making “Alexia” to “Alexuscia” will only make your child hate you for having to explain to people how that name came about countless times by the age of 35.

2. They need to be employed someday: I’m a schoolteacher of young black boys and girls. So it should go without saying that I see and hear more over-the-top names than I care to share. Every now and again, I come across a doozy; what person in their free-thinking mind’s eye would come up with the name “Chandelier,” make it legal for the courts and send your child off with the expectation that it wont be an obstacle in the future? While we would love to assume that individuals aren’t shallow enough to judge a person by their name off the top, I’m sure no one reading this was born last night. It obviously happens.

3. Phonetic mess: As an English teacher, I cant deal with the silent “j” and “s” that populate these names. I can’t deal with “L-ia” being pronounced “Ladashia” or the -leigh taking place of the -ley and having your child get mad at me for saying it wrong. Can’t do it. And you shouldn’t do it either.

4. You don’t want your kids angry with you: You don’t want them to feel the need to run and get their name changed the minute they turn 18 do you? I have a unique-yet-common-enough first name, and I’ve been dealing with the blow back from it since I was in short pants. But the random jokes that come from my real name are nothing compared to the ridicule names that no other human on earth have outside of your child get. What’s wrong with “Andrew”? Is there a problem with “Tracy”? Hell, if you wanna go cultural, run with Malik! But there’s no accounting for “Dejalatasia” or some such name that will take your kids through hell on the playground. Some kids can be truly harsh (damn near evil) by nature, and those names are like giving them a handful of rocks aimed directly at your child.

5. Don’t put absurd expectations on your child through their name: “Diamond.” “Essence.” “Precious.” “Heaven.” “Princess.” Not made-up names, but your daughter could be the second coming of Halle Berry in her prime and this would still make her look like a narcissist. And if she doesn’t end up looking like a “Diamond,” then you have got a lot of explaining to do. Plus, it’s hard to have a name like “Joy” if this young lady has an attitude more suited for a name like “Vicious.” Just keep these things in mind…

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Finally black men are asking one another the questions that everyone else has been asking about them behind their backs in a new documentary titled “Question Bridge: Black Males.” The transmedia art project seeks to redefine black male identity by forcing them to think about who they really are when confronted with questions like:

Do you want to get out of the situation you are in?

What is the reluctance for taking responsibility for improving our community?

Why are you afraid of being intelligent?

Are your children better or worse off as a result of your involvement?

A few of the featured men also explain why they perpetuate the cycles that they do, while others give their thoughts on why things are the way they are. What’s exciting about this project is that you see black men holding one another accountable, and I think black men are much more receptive to critique when it comes from someone who looks like them as opposed to “outsiders” like black women or society as a whole which often sparks defensiveness rather than an open mind.

The film, directed by Chris Johnson and Hank Willis Thomas, was selected for the inaugural Sundance New Frontier Story Lab and is currently on display at the Brooklyn Museum with more exhibits planned in  Oakland, Atlanta, and Utah throughout 2012.

Check out the trailer below and tell us what you think about the concept. What are some questions you have for black men in 2012?

Brande Victorian is a blogger and culture writer in New York City. Follower her on Twitter at @be_vic.

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Identity is something many biracial children and even adults struggle with. The issue of not being black enough, white enough, Latina, enough, etc., can weigh on a child’s self-esteem, especially when one parent fails to acknowledge one part of their child’s racial makeup.

That was Tiffany Rae Reid’s experience. She was raised by her Hungarian mother and because her African American father was absentee, her mother led her to believe her darker complexion and other black features resulted from darker completed Hungarian ancestors she was shown photos of as proof. When Reid eventually found out her real father was black and only lived 20 minutes away from her, she struggled to forgive her mother and the way she made her feel devalued by denying her black ancestry. The experience motivated her to write  “Color Blind — A Mixed Girl’s Perspective on Biracial Life,” as a guide to help parents of biracial children understand the struggles they deal with.

“Unless a child’s parents are both biracial, it will be hard to understand the life experiences that are going to be unique to their biracial children,” says Reid. “Halle Berry is not the end-all-be-all mixed chick. We come in all different sizes, all different colors and all different textures.”

Biracial children who are raised to be ignorant of certain parts of their heritage especially struggle with identity and develop feelings of alienation, anger, and powerlessness, as well as confusion about how they’re supposed to act, Reid says.

“By not seeing color, you’re not honoring my history, you’re not honoring my culture and heritage, you’re not honoring the challenges and obstacles I have because of the color of my skin that you will never face. For anybody raising biracial children, whether they’re adopted or naturally born, I get that it’s love and I absolutely honor that. But love is not enough.”

While Reid was eventually able to forgive her mother, she knows her story is not unique and she want to help other children and parents who are going through the same things that she did. “My life’s experiences — all the challenges, all the nights I was up crying, all the arguments with my mom — they were all for a reason. This book shows people that truth is freedom. Parents need to be that beacon of truth for their children so they can live their authentic lives.”

Can you relate to Tiffany’s experience growing up as a biracial child? Do you struggle as a parent of a biracial child to help them develop an identity?

Brande Victorian is a blogger and culture writer in New York City. Follower her on Twitter at @be_vic.

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by Ezinne Adibe

One hundred years from now what weight will race and/or ethnicity have on our understanding of identity?  Are we moving towards a society where race will become so ambiguous that notions tied into race will become a thing of the past? The concept of a post-racial society seemed to gain further traction during the election of President Barack Obama, but as author Dr. Kwasi Konadu notes, there hasn’t been much of a post-racial anything in the years since President Obama’s election. Dr. Konadu recently shared his thoughts on identity, post-racialism, and what it means to be African.

Ezinne Adibe: How has your identity shaped your work?

Dr. Kwasi Konadu: My work been very personal in that a lot of my research has been shaped by my ancestry. For instance, it was after a number of years of doing my family history through family elders that a dream about my great-great-grandmother led me back to Ghana to find out more. That led to my dissertation in Ghana, which led to a decade of research and partnership in Ghana, another home of mine in the African world. So, indeed, identity shaped by ancestry has been critical to how I choose what I am interested in, how I approach those matters with a kind of passion, and always the quest for getting the story right.

Ezinne Adibe: I come across many conversations about identity, especially with regards to national identity. There are some that feel national identity is more important than racial or ethnic affiliation. What are your thoughts?

Dr. Konadu: If we make the matter of identity an either or question, whether it is the clan or the nation, in terms of how we define nations and nationalism, or it is some other kind of affiliation, I think we miss a very subtle but important point about how Africans, and other humans, have historically identified themselves. Humans tend to have concentric circles of a composite identity. So, at the same time I can be a father, a husband, a professor, a brother to my own biological kin or a brother in a communal sense. And there can be no conflict with either of those circles, because these identities are not in conflict but are expressions of a composite, whole identity. I think they become conflictual because of the historical experiences that brought Africans to whatever side of whatever ocean/sea they now find themselves. Whatever means by which Africans were exported from their homelands, they have endured a certain kind of transformation where blackness became the demonic inverse, that is, it became the opposite of Judeo-Christian whiteness, and blackness also became a synonym for Africaness. And so, it’s not surprising to find that many of our peoples worldwide, but certainly in North America, are offended if called African, because African, in their mind, is shorthand for this package of barbarism, backwardness, idol worshippers, lacking beauty and intelligence. All this is packaged into being African. So, who wants to be African?

Ezinne Adibe: Yes, some take being referred to as African as an affront.

Dr. Konadu: To the heart of your question, the crux of the issue is realizing that where you are and who you are don’t have to be in conflict. That is, I can be an American citizen as a political status, but culturally defined by my ancestry. You can be both African as a cultural identity and still remain a political citizen in whatever nation-state you reside. For instance, in Ghana, you can be Asante, and at the same time you can be a citizen of the Republic of Ghana. You can also be of the Oyoko or Agona or Bretuo clan. And similar familial systems exist among the Yoruba, the Hausa, or the Igbo and so this idea of concentric affiliations and therefore identities is not exclusively a Ghanaian matter. For those Africans in whatever diaspora they find themselves, they can be political citizens of Brazil, Cuba, North America and the like and still culturally self-identify as African. And the cumulative weight of one’s African ancestry, underlying our mannerisms, the way we use language, the ways in which we greet, the subtleness of culture is a critical frame of reference in determining cultural identity.

There’s a game that’s played with the term African, especially in the media and in our school curricular or textbooks. At one point, the term African is homogenized, that is, “you are all Africans.” So, for example, if there is corruption of whatever sort in Zimbabwe or in Nigeria, then it is an “African” problem, where the behavior of specific people becomes homogenized and the integrity and humanity of all Africans come into question. A more common example of homogenization is that “Africans sold other Africans during slavery.” The story is not that simple, nor should it be. All or most Africans were not slavers nor did they engineer the transatlantic slave system. Their humanity should not be undermined by such sound bites that –after a while—becomes an unquestionable truth. The term “African” also fluctuates between its homogenized form and its opposite. Thus, if Africans in the diaspora self-identify as culturally African via their ancestry, claiming, “Well, we too are Africans,” the media or school curricular response is “No, you’re not. You have nothing to do with them.” So, when it suits certain purposes, we get situational and contradictory responses, such as “you’re all the same” and “you’re not same.”

(New York Times) — At the beginning of the college application season last fall, Natasha Scott, a high school senior of mixed racial heritage in Beltsville, Md., vented about a personal dilemma on College Confidential, the go-to electronic bulletin board for anonymous conversation about admissions.  “I just realized that my race is something I have to think about,” she wrote, describing herself as having an Asian mother and a black father. “It pains me to say this, but putting down black might help my admissions chances and putting down Asian might hurt it.”  “My mother urges me to put down black to use AA” — African-American — “to get in to the colleges I’m applying to,” added Ms. Scott, who identified herself on the site as Clearbrooke. “I sort of want to do this but I’m wondering if this is morally right.”  Within minutes, a commenter had responded, “You’re black. You should own it.” Someone else agreed, “Put black!!!!!!!! Listen to your mom.”  No one advised marking Asian alone. But one commenter weighed in with advice that could just as well have come from any college across the country: “You can put both. You can put one. You’re not dishonest either way. Just put how you feel.”

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