I want to be able to look back a year from now and rediscover what made my life that little bit more interesting. Like this opening excerpt from Langston Hughes I discovered in Nella Larsen’s Quicksand & Rising:
My old man died in a fine big house, My ma died in a shack, I wonder where I’m gonna die, Being neither white or black?
If I were a film maker or some clever sod sitting in the air conditioned office of the Ghana Tourism Board, I would commission a documentary about the journey of the diaspora going back to their respective countries. From what I have seen and heard this is another fuck off experience in itself, like how many times have you seen a dashiki clad and head wrapped fellow or lass yabbing on about how they are going back to the mother land, and never actually staying in the mother land for more than a month? Too many, and that’s me included
Truth is, I am very comfortable tucked away in the rainy Netherlands, with my creature comforts like wireless, reliable electricity and hot water on tap, even if it is colder than a witches tit most months.
I have to ask myself whether I will ever be truly accepted on either side of the fence, and I personally abhor people who sit on the fence. For instance, even Mr who is a thoroughbred Ghana gent with a smidgen of Scottish blood running through his veins has a hard time being accepted, let alone me. I try not to be superficial about this train of thought and where its leading, but I guess I have to explore it either way. In reality it starts with my need for wireless connection, reliable electricity and hot water on tap!