Stuff African People Hate

When’s the last time you saw a homeless African in America? Think long and hard. When was the last time that the fellow asking you for change had a deep and somewhat aggressive accent that led you to believe that he was from the mother continent? It was probably around the time that you saw a homeless Chinese or Mexican person.

Sure in the actual countries there are millions of homeless; displaced of war, disease, gentrification, natural disaster, you name it. But here?? If you’ve made it to America then I guarantee you will find SOMEBODY to live with. Unless you have committed an unpardonable sin, or are unbelievably lazy (and even that gets by sometimes), you have at least one relative or friend that you will live with until you get on your feet.

Family:

<–Typical African family (immediate)

While in America the typical household size is four or five (and that’s considered stretching it), most African countries have household sizes of around seven or eight. That’s an average of 5-6 children. I remember growing up and going to church with my brothers and sisters. We took up an entire pew. People were so impressed with my mom, who actually didn’t really feel spectacular at all. She had the most children out of all of her other Liberian friends, who averaged about four, but back home she would’ve been just another mom. Her mom had six kids, her mom’s mom had around ten, my dad is the oldest of nine, his dad was the youngest of seven. Kids were not as economically draining as they are in the US because the general concensus was (1) Little boys grew up to be men who went to college and made a good living to take care of not only their new family, but their mother, father, and all of their extended family (2) Little girls grew up to be women who married college men who made a good living to take care of not only his new family, but his mother, father, and all of his extended family (in-laws). When wars disrupted most of those countries, scaterring ex-patriates to America and London, it wasn’t very hard to find family (brother, sister, cousin, in-law) to live with until you found a job (or three) to stand on your own.

Extended Family:

<—Typical African family (extended)

Another thing I remember growing up was that I had a lot of uncles and aunties. It wasn’t until I got to middle school that I learned that most of the people that I addressed as Uncle (insert brother’s name) and Aunty (insert middle name) had no blood relation to me. If someone was a classmate or close friend of my parents back home, they were automatically my aunts and uncles. If someone was a neighbor or churchmate of my parents back home, they were automatically my aunts and uncles. When I finally asked my mom why I had so many aunties, she answered,

“Because they’re like sisters to me.”

Keyword: like

Meaning: We had a class together in elementary school.

Considering how “extended” this actually makes my family, I kind of have lifetime housing insurance. Nobody that I’ve called Uncle or Aunty my entire life would have me on a park bench. I may be subject to excessive and sometimes ridiculous house chores during my stay, but at least I would have a place to stay. I have lifetime hotel membership also, because no matter what state I’m in I can call my mom and ask her which aunty and uncle I can stay a night with. I can also expect to visit home at any random time to see an “extended” family member in the guest room (my former bedroom), while my parents are putting them up for a “short while” (a year).

(Side Note (Liberia): If you ever meet a Liberian and tell them a name of another Liberian you know, this may be why that name sounds familiar to them, because he/she is a distant relative of an “Aunty” or “Uncle”. If you ever meet a Liberian and tell them a name of a famous Liberian, this may be why they get excited and tell you that the person is related to them, because he/she is a distant relative of an “Aunty” or “Uncle”.)

Friends:

<— Typical African family friends

I once thought that my mom was extremely popular, because anytime I told her a story or explained a movie I had just watched, she would tell me about a friend of hers that went through the same thing. Around the same time I realized that my uncles weren’t really my uncles, I had the following conversation with my mom.

Middle-School Me: Today Marcus got chewed out by Mr. Klein.

Mom: Ay-ya, my friend Mussu just died back home.

Middle-School Me: (Not sure how she got Mussu from Marcus or Mr. Klein but still genuinely concerned) When??!

Mom: Last week.

Middle-School Me: (Confused) Well, you don’t seem really sad. How long did you know her?

Mom: I met her once with Aunty (unrelated) Rina.

Middle-School Me: (Silent. Betrayed.)

It was then that I realized that anyone that my mom had a conversation with (anything beyond hello, including goodbye) in her entire life was, in her eyes, her friend. She even had some of these people’s numbers, and would randomly call them to say hello. Strangely, even if they hadn’t spoken to her in thirty years since their initial (and only) greeting, they would have hour-long conversations about the way things were before the war, their children, and who else they knew that were in the states. When my mom came to America and over the years, her list of friends has grown to everyone that has ever attended an American Baptist Association convention, the states of Texas, Rhode Island, and Minnesota, and Johnnie Cochran. Needless to say she has options if anything ever happens to her house. God forbid.