E-Mail From Naiorbi - by Tereneh Mosley
Editor's Note:
Late in 2004, I began receiving forwards of e-mails written by Tereneh Mosley, who was studying fashion design in Nairobi, Kenya on a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship. I barely knew Tereneh; she is the daughter of a close friend of my boyfriend's stepfather. Here in Pittsburgh, where the six degrees of separation are significantly reduced, it was almost like getting e-mail from a stranger. Initially, I merely skimmed these e-mails as I would any circuitous forward that ended up in my Inbox. But as the school year progressed and Tereneh became more and more immersed in her experience, I began to open her dispatches more eagerly. What had begun as a cheerful, newsy, informative shout-out had become a soul-searching, sometimes blatantly homesick communiqué and statement of self. It was as though a human voice had emerged from a postcard.
When Kris, Scott, and I began our discussions about assuming the editorship of this magazine, we talked a lot about Identity: what identity did we hope to establish for our magazine, for ourselves as writers, for the city of Pittsburgh in conjunction with our endeavors? We talked about Pittsburgh's identity in the world today, the myriad of ways this identity differs from the reality we see around us every day, and a range of possible futures for the Pittsburgh identity.
Throughout our discussions, my thoughts kept returning to Tereneh, whose identity I had seen emerge through the course of her e-mail correspondence. "Emerge" is perhaps the wrong word here; it seems to me that Tereneh's sense of herself remains secure and unwavering throughout the letters. Rather, what occurs is an examination and affirmation of various facets of Tereneh's identity. She does not contemplate what it means to her to be Black, or female, or American, or from Pittsburgh so much as what these things mean in Nairobi and how her daily confrontations with these perceptions make her feel.
I decided I'd like to see Tereneh's letters become part of our first issue. But when I finally caught up with Tereneh, who was home in Pittsburgh for a visit before heading back to Kenya to finish her degree, she seemed hesitant to consent to our inclusion of her material. Though I didn't know Tereneh well, I knew her to be exuberant and outgoing, a woman whose definition of diversity includes the phrase "dancing on tables." Thus I could not really understand her reticence; although her participation would mean exposing herself emotionally in a public forum, the letters were already available in a public forum, on Blogspot.com.
When I followed up our conversation with an e-mail, Tereneh's response was more enthusiastic. I suggested a range of editorial possibilities, giving Tereneh the option to choose for herself which of the letters she was comfortable including in the magazine. We agreed to meet and review the material together, and so that I could get an overview of her life. I was curious about the choices and events that had led her to choose a fashion-design scholarship in Kenya at age thirty-six.
We met in a coffee shop Downtown. I was running late; Tereneh had been waiting for me at a little café table for some time and got up to greet me. She is a petite woman with an open, expressive face framed by huge hair. Her personal style is at once eclectic and sophisticated, that of someone who is a free thinker but who has also studied fashion. Tereneh talked to me a bit about her background. She was raised by her father, the sculptor Thad Mosley, and credits him with providing a paradigm in which to grow up that was unusual for Pittsburgh in the Seventies and Eighties. She recalled routinely being around artists and thinkers of so many backgrounds and cultures and disciplines that she never had to think about race and culture as vehicles for discrimination, misunderstanding, or strife. She called it a "bubble", where people were people.
After graduating from Drexel in 1992 with a business degree, Tereneh lived and worked in marketing for many years in other American cities, including New York and Chicago. She returned to Pittsburgh in 2002 at the urging of her younger brother, and took a job as Director of Talent Attraction and Retention at the Pittsburgh Regional Alliance. The momentous task that came with this title was to market Pittsburgh as an attractive place for young professionals. This was not an easy job; I got the impression that the experience had left Tereneh a bit jaded and ready to try something new. She had always been interested in studying fashion design but had never had the opportunity to entertain the idea seriously. She decided to apply for the Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship, which she had heard of through a friend. On her acceptance, the Rotary offered her a choice of several locations where she could study. Tereneh chose Nairobi.
At my meeting with Tereneh we did not look at her material at all, despite the fact that her laptop and my printed-out copy of the work were both sitting on the table right in front of us. It was here that I learned the root of Tereneh's reluctance to share the words she'd already shared with anyone in Cyberspace: she hadn't actually read them. She had begun her correspondence as a means of staying in touch with her closest friends and family; she mentioned that in her homesickness she'd made a point to include anecdotes that would be funny to read, perhaps funnier than when they'd actually happened. She wasn't sure the letters were a good representation of herself or her experiences. While I'd enjoyed what seemed to me like getting to know Tereneh over the course of her correspondence, Tereneh herself was somewhat terrified of revisiting what she had written so casually and therapeutically.
Friends had set up the Blogspot account for her; she hadn't imagined the ramifications of the "forward message" button as her recipients found her voice compelling and wanted to share it. By the time Tereneh came home to Pittsburgh her readership had mushroomed to the point where near strangers like me were approaching her and wanting to talk about her letters home. The voice that had strengthened to a shout on the screen in front of me had never been intended to be public.
I became cautious in the remainder of my interactions with Tereneh. Not only was I conscious of the increasingly tight timeframe before her return to Kenya, but I had come to feel as if I had inadvertently violated Tereneh somehow. I wanted Tereneh to feel comfortable with her participation in our magazine. I really believed in her voice and felt that it would mesh perfectly with our inaugural identity-themed issue. But by asking her to make her own selections since she wasn't really comfortable with having me make them, I was forcing her to revisit a body of work to which she wasn't comfortable returning.
In the end, Tereneh chose to include many of the same passages from her correspondence that I would have, and seemed comfortable with her selections. She ended up providing us with several times more material than she originally expressed a willingness to give, and wrote her own introduction. By this time she was back in Kenya and busy; I don't know what making these selections was like for her. My hope is that once the ice was broken and she dived into her own unknown that she came to enjoy the process.
Ellie GumlockTereneh Mosley is a Pittsburgh native who is now studying in Nairobi, Kenya, at Kenyatta University. During her first year of graduate school she began sending e-mails to her friends and family in the USA. These e-mails are unedited so grammatical errors may occur; the author requests your patience. As you will see in the following passages, Ms. Mosley is not a big fan of race labels but when pressed she will say she is American, or more to the point an Omni-American, a term coined by the author Arthur Murray referring to the fact that most Black Americans contain the blood of many: Africans, Native Americans, British, and other Europeans. What is more that the Black American is a distinct group unrecognizable to its ancestors in Africa and fully created in the lands of the Americas. With more pressure on the "What are you?" question Ms. Mosley will say a Black American, but after reading this you will find, if you do not already know, this thing called race says very little about a human being.
Being Black in Africa and Not African
As I said before I get lots of stares people cannot place me but since I am Black and in Kenya I am often assumed to be Kenyan. People say oh you look Kenyan. I say why because I am Black or do I have facial features like a Kenyan? The answer: I look Kenyan because I am Black. Well I say most of the Black people in this world including myself are not Kenyan so maybe you could narrow down what a Kenyan looks like for me.
But the assumption extends even further. Because I am Black even though I am not Kenyan I should know and understand the culture, language, mores, etc. Ignoring the fact that I am American and have been in Kenya for all of 5 months. For example, everyone who is Kenyan that I meet the first time, for example clerks at stores, officials at the light company/immigration, etc. begin to speak to me in Kiswahili. Even if I speak in English the answer comes in Kiswahili. Ok that is fine except when I politely say I do not understand and could you please speak English. Well then... people think that I am a "high-class Kenyan faker" faking an American accent. I say if I were to fake an accent I would pick something cool like Russian or Portuguese. Or I get yelled at for being Black and not speaking Kiswahili, "You are Black you should know!"
I also love it when people think I am a prostitute. [Prostitution is rampant here especially among Kenyan women and foreign men.] One time I went to an Italian restaurant they would not serve me at first - this has happened before so I am learning the game. So I waited until they finally sent out a Black waitress to take my order (the other servers were Italian) I ordered gelato among other things. The owner came over and asked how was the ice cream. I said you mean the gelato - molto bene! He was floored then he asked - you know what gelato is? I was like what is this now some kind of special secret dessert that no one is supposed to know about like: "Mario, if anyone asks this is just ice cream, ok?" So then he said you're not Kenyan? No I am from Pennsylvania. Well then he was my best friend talking about his cousins in South Philly blah blah blah - be sure to come back soon. I said that is funny because earlier you did not even want to serve me now you find out I am: 1. Not Kenyan 2. Not a prostitute and 3. Am American - you want me to come back? No I don't think so homey don't play that, ciao! He said, "You have to understand when we see a young well dressed Black woman we assume she is a sex worker." Ahh yes it is so clear to me now thanks for explaining it - so if I wear a Burka or dirty overalls that would be ok? Now there are tons of prostitutes here in Nairobi to be sure but do I look like a ho? Really, you can tell me if I do.
Hair
In Nairobi natural hair is not very popular. For the most part women have relaxed or straightened hair, weaves, braids with fake hair, and even wigs. So my ever expanding Afro has been cause for alarm and interest in the streets of Nairobi.
Once this past week a woman yelled "Nice wig!" when she walked by me. People are getting bolder and just grabbing my hair now as well. In the cyber cafˇ I usually go to, two women had their hands in my fro going down to my scalp trying to find out if my hair was real. One woman said oh you have Arab hair! Ok. Whatever. Most people though just do a kind of "grab or rub" by - just a quick touch like I would not notice. It is funny to me.
The latest though is a friend who is going to be a news broadcaster. She is a Black Kenyan woman and has a fro. Well at the final interview they asked her what is she going to do about her hair? She said she would smooth it down but not cut or relax it. They suggested she wear a wig! Apparently there is a woman who works there with dreds she has to wear a wig when she is on the air. A nice chin length number a la Condi Rice. Yes the idea of a woman on television in Kenya, Africa with natural hair is for some reason an issue. Help me please.
Despite daily viewing of Oprah and the International travel of the former and current Secretary of State, and music videos, Kenyans and I guess most of the world thinks of Americans as being white.
"Oh you mean the Black American!"
I sit down in the Kenyatta U café next to a guy who has an American accent the ONLY one I have heard on campus unless I am talking to myself and you all know I talk to myself a bit too much but that will be left for therapy when I get back. Anyhoo so I sit next to him and say so where are you from? He says America with a roll of the eyes - being a white man in Africa people ask him that all of the time I am sure. I said yes but where in America he says Philadelphia! I was like woo I am from Pittsburgh hey there Keystone bro. He said really you are American. I said yes. Then he said but your parents are Kenyan? Nope. Then you were born in Kenya? Nope South Side Hospital Pixburgh PA. Well you have family here in Kenya? No I am just a plain ole American, dude. (Now this happens to me all the time. When my white countrymen and women say they are American people just nod, of course you are American. But at least half the time when I say it I get 5 million questions. I even had one Kenyan tell me I could not be American because I am not white. I was like oh I have to tell the other 30,000,000,000 Black folks in the US that they are not American. By the way did you enjoy watching Oprah today, oh who is the US Sec. of State that is on the cover of the newspaper you are carrying, and that is a really nice Sean John shirt you are wearing buddy. Ugh!) It is like it is some great mystery: how can you be black and American at the same time. Which is why I no longer say African-American. I am not African I am American. True I have African ancestry among many other things. But after hundreds of years of blood, sweat, and tears Black folks earned the right to the nationality. We are Americans as American as you can get.
Real Americans
I was speaking to a guy named Tad, an American who works for the US Ambassador to Kenya (the ambassador by the way is a former Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar, like me, cool huh?) Tad has also worked in Bangladesh where the same situation I am about to describe has also occurred. An applicant for a visa to the US is at the counter talking to a non-white American and is not getting what they want - a visa immediately, they will often get upset and say, "I want to speak to a real American!" Now based on my earlier emails you can guess what they mean by "real" American. So more times than he can remember Tad (who is white) has walked over to the counter where a Black, Asian, or some other raced colleague is standing and says something to the effect of, "Sir/Madam, the person you are speaking to has been a 'real' American longer than I have and he is in a position to determine if you get a visa or not. So if I were you I would be real nice to him. And if you do get to America you may find yourself face to face with a policeman, boss, or someone else in a position of power who looks just like him, so get used to it."
More on Black America
I was talking to a Spaniard, Manuel and this guy from Lebanon, Ziad. I asked what is your image of Black America? They said Oprah and rappers. Then Manuel said but Oprah is really like a White Black American. I did not ask him to elaborate. So I asked, do people all over the world think Black America is what they see in rap videos? Both Manuel and Ziad said yes in a way that was like why are you even asking that question - it is so obvious. Imagine if the only things the world knew of white America came from Hee-Haw?
An American Peace Corps volunteer told me about her discussion on America with the people she works with in Tala, Kenya. They asked if there is crime in America she said yes. But they all said but the only criminals are the Black Americans, right? Luckily she said no.
I was at dinner and someone referred to "normal" Americans. I asked who are the normal Americans? He said the "white ones." It took all I could muster not to get up out of my chair and smack the guy.
Niggas and George Bush in Africa
I heard a story on the BBC WorldService about a bar in Tanzania called the George Bush Social Club. Apparently it was named during the first Iraq War after the then President Bush. Although most of the regulars are not fans of the Bushies the owner is quite fond. His reasoning? George the First did a good job dealing with Saddam. Obviously. The thing though that struck me about the story was not the existence of the G Bush Social Club which is in itself odd to be sure but the car wash next store. The name? Nigger Car Wash. I wonder if they sell t-shirts?
Ok I have one more story along those lines a Black American said this happened to him. Upon meeting a group of Kenyans one of them said to him, "Oh you are a Black American! So you are a nigger!" You have to understand this man thought he was paying a compliment or at least showing his knowledge of the supposed Black American culture. We can only look at one faction to blame for this statement, the rappers who use that word in their songs. These songs are played all over the world and in America I think we forget this fact. So the context given as an excuse for the use of the word, taking it, owning it and supposedly in the process losing its derogatory meaning and thereby losing its power - is completely lost. You see tons of young Black Kenyan men and women dressing just like what they see in the music videos. You have all this amazing culture and dress but you see kids here wearing Timberlands and Sean John or long pseudo Beyonce blonde extensions and hip-huggers. People ask me why I am here! In America everything is so cool! I just say it is a big world and things are cool here in Kenya too. They just give me the blank look I am getting so used to seeing whenever I speak. So to all the rappers out there if you don't want to be greeted with: "Oh so you must be a nigger!" in Kenya or anywhere else - stop using the word in your songs!
Language Barrier
Kenya attracts people from all over the world. At any given time you will hear the languages and accents of dozens of different countries in the same room. English is one of the two official languages of Kenya. However for the most part it is the British accent that is heard and understood more frequently than the American.
Besides the obvious fact that I do not speak Kiswahili even speaking English at times is a challenge because of my American accent. The examples of problems are varied:
1. When my fashion design teacher was giving me a verbal list of things I needed to buy she said or at least I heard "you need to by cell tip." So I repeated, "cell tip?" She said yes. So I went to an art supply store and said do you have "cell tip"? She said yes of course. It turned out to be clear tape like Scotch tape.
2. When I called a cab I told him I needed to be picked up at my place and then driven to Bishop's Road. Well he went to Bishop's Road first. He called and said I am here. I went outside and did not see him. I said I am outside do you see me? No. So after a five-minute Abbot and Costello routine he finally came to the right place.
3. I went to a dinner party the other night and I grabbed a plate of food to eat and share with other people. There were not enough forks so I said to a man sitting next to me, "Do you want a fork?" Well he looked at me and smiled said, "Why yes." So I got him a fork and handed it to him. He frowned then I said is there something wrong? He said "Yes I thought you said do you want to f#%*!" It was not that kind of party so I am not sure what the heck he was thinking.
Hangin' with the Maasai
One of the most beautiful experiences in my life was spending a weekend at a Maasai village, and besides what documentation on Kenya would be complete without a word or two on them.
Well let's see where to start. Paul is my friend Shelley's boyfriend he has lived in Africa most of his life but his family comes from England he is very cool has lived all over Africa and his best friend is a Maasai man in Tanzania. But he is working on a project to build a school and other things in a Maasai village in Hell's Gate National Park in Kenya. The project is almost over so the Maasai decided to do a ritual sacrifice of a cow, show us the caves where they do sacred rites, let us sleep there, tell stories, dance, etc. So Paul invited Shelley to come and I went with them. Awesome stuff.
Well the cow, humm let's just say we were late coming in from town so I missed the sacrifice. Apparently the cow did not die with the first knife blow to the back of the neck so it had to be stabbed several times. I am kind of glad I missed that part. I also missed the drinking of the blood through the neck of the severed head. I imagined it was still warm though which may make it taste better I am not sure. The caves are about an hour or so hike away from the village so we had to walk and we of course got lost and it is about 90 degrees, very dry and hilly. Luckily they sent someone to find us, three kids about 10 years old or so. They looked amazing they had on their beautiful wrapped fabrics and their bodies were almost fully covered in red ochre. They led us to the main cave where the fire was already started and the cow was being cooked. Many of the other British volunteers who are on the project also had on Maasai gear and two of the men had received Maasai scarring on their upper arms. They looked like brands, circles in a straight line, about 2 to 3 in a row. When people ask if getting tattoos hurt I am surprised since it seems obvious it would hurt to get hundreds of needles plowed into the second layer of your skin with successive rapidity. But knowing that did not stop me from asking them, "Hey did that hurt?" With the same quizzical look I give people, they answered, "Yes of course it hurt."
For the most part only the Maasai men in their 20s hung out with us, one made us walking sticks; I have mine here in my room. It is very simple but strong - and I love the fact that it is my walking stick fashioned just for me by a Maasai in a sacred Maasai cave in Kenya. Yeah I am milking it a bit but it is true. Anyway so they hung out with us and were very cool. They have met a lot of folks but not very many Black Americans. The rumor was that I was from Uganda but went to school in America, which explained my accent. So when they asked I said "Actually yes I did go to school in America." Then they laughed when Paul told them I was American. One Maasai man said, "Oh Michael Jordan!"
There were some older men and women but no young women around to be seen which I did not understand and did not ask about. Everyone was dressed in their traditional attire and looked absolutely stunning. There was a group of young women that walked by us on our hike to the cave they were about 11-14 or so. One had on an amazing beautiful headband. When I asked about it I was told that meant that she was just circumcised or to put it in our terms Female Genital Mutilation and in a year she would be ready for marriage.
The men looked so beautiful most of them had bald heads but one older man had the long locks that were covered on ochre, he was very small and thin but when he walked up to the cave I just stopped still and watched him move he was so beautiful you can tell he commanded and accepted respect. The young men also were amazing to watch. The white British guys dressed up in Maasai gear looked OK but I have to admit I could not help thinking of "Lord of the Flies" when I looked at them, but they were into it so who am I to say they looked silly?
Joel and Jackson were very cool, I am not sure what their Maasai names were but they could not say my name either so I guess that made us even. Every now and then, Joel would make this grunting, roaring sound - it is a sound that they make when they dance and every time he did it I would jump thinking it was an animal. He thought that was pretty funny. It did not help that the day before a leopard was spotted near the cave. So even though I was trying to act cool my true city girl self showed through.
Ok so we ate the cow, the freshest meal I have had and it was yummy too. But the main cave was filled with the Maasai and other volunteers so the suggestion was for us to go to another cave before it got dark. That was fine because Paul had some Scotch and Chianti in his bag and he said he was not going to open it until we set up camp which was all the motivation I needed to get off my butt and go to the next cave.
When we got to the base of the hill, cliff, mountain, whatever it is, I was like, you want me to climb that? I would settle for a warm Tusker or some cow blood, "f" the Scotch I can stay here under this nice tree. But climb we did. And wow it was worth it. The views were amazing: the rolling hills that fall into the dramatic canyon, the small river, the amazing acacia trees with their elegant flat wide tops, and the high jutes - an African Grand Canyon with more greenery. The only thing to rival the view at the day was the night. The narrow cave opening and natural vestibule was the perfect place to view the stars. Jackson was supposed to tell us some of the Maasai names for the stars but did not so I have to go back. But the Big Dipper was to the right of the cave and I think I could have grabbed the handle. The Southern Cross was there, framed in the opening to the cave. I could not keep my eyes off the stars it is hypnotic to see the stars so close, so bright, on the clearest of clear nights. I wanted to stand and be lifted up to float in the sky - a perfect glimmering black bath.
After a night of stories, Scotch, more cow and sleeping on leaves (very comfortable by the way) we woke up and had to climb down, which was worse than climbing up. When we got to the village two of the older Maasai ladies were stretching out what was left of the cow - the hide - on the ground. When I asked if I could take their pix they got all primped - it was so cool, they wanted to make sure their necklaces were just so, their kangas perfectly in place... wel as you know I love the well-dressed woman.
And the best part is I have an invitation to go again, I cannot wait...
Love, Tereneh