Nickel Blogs - 21 years of articulating the identity spectrum

Finding a place to be known

Negotiating the identity spectrum has been a feature of my blog, though when I consider the situation, it has always been a feature of my life. However, having a blog has helped articulate the issues around how identity is more defined by influences than by progeny.

I can think of the many experiences and realisations, the earliest being when I first arrived in Nigeria, barely a 5-year-old and I noticed there were more people like me than where we had left. How was a little black English boy to know that Nigeria would be different?

English, people have issues with that, I am supposed to be Black British, yet on those atrocious forms, I would write in Black English. That aspect of being English became ascendant when I had to tackle the question of where I was from when I lived in the Netherlands.

The many questions of where

“Where are you from?”, they would ask. I answer, “I am from England”. The next question usually was, “Where are you originally from?”, The answer, “England”. Confusion or frustration clouds their faces with a further inquiry, “Where are your parents from?”, The answer, “Nigeria”. Enlightenment, “So, you’re Nigerian”, “No, I am not, I was born in England.”

The best question in that vein was, “What is your birth country?”, I answered, “England”, and my interlocutor asked no further questions. This brings me to the other matter of my accent, it started as a typical Brummie accent influenced by associations in Nigeria especially in schools that had a large international pupillage.

Strange juxtapositions of identification

It's funny that most of the Caucasian kids were Nigerian-born, and many of the black kids were foreign-born, with foreign accents, too. However, reading an article by a friend of mixed-race parentage revealed another interesting thing about identity. Those of mixed-race parentage were othered from afar. We looked like everyone else until we began to speak, and then we were put aside, too.

It was like we never really belonged where we thought we belonged; we had to work out how we wanted to be identified. For instance, how do you tackle a statement like, “You’ve always thought like a Westerner?” I was 42 years old, which was what my father said in a conversation.

The privilege and the opportunity

In my case, I have found both privilege and opportunity by the accident of birth that is not of my making, how it has helped me navigate situations in life and at work cannot be covered in a blog. Too many examples come to mind.

Maybe, I am more fortunate that working with my sense of identity and the quality of my education has taken me to interesting places.

I have little time for identity politics, but woe betide anyone who attempts to pigeonhole me in dockets where I neither identify nor wish to place in. Such is the life of a Third Culture Kid.

Some additional context

A Third Culture Kid (TCK) is a person who spends a significant part of their childhood living in a country or countries that are different from at least one of their parents' passport countries:

The child's parents' culture is the first culture.

The host country's culture is the second culture.

The child's own cultural identity is the third culture, which is a fusion of the first two.

The child adopts some traits from each culture. [If I may add, some kids even live in bubbles different from the nominal culture too.]

Making sense of from whence we came

Who are they who bore us?

I have always been fascinated by the BBC TV series, ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ which in its 20^th series still intrigues me with plot twists and revelations in genealogy, history, identity, identification, and context of the lives of the participants.

In fact, it was interesting to learn that not every apparently famous person today qualifies for insightful research of their pasts, whilst others might be able to dig back almost a millennium to their auspicious or notorious roots.

It has left me wondering what entertaining piece of knowledge I would acquire if I decided to research my own genealogy, though my father has quite studiously researched much going back up to 6 or so generations, I have not been able to review his work to any detail.

In the grand scheme of things

In terms of encounter, I had a paternal great-grandmother on his maternal side into my twenties with whom I had many a conversation and repartee, my paternal grandparents were literally not that engaging, beyond greetings, not much else transpired. My maternal grandmother was a stalwart, a widow from an early age, my maternal grandfather had passed on over 4 years before my birth.

In meeting and greeting her, she would laud each one of us with our individual Oríkì, affirmative poetic praise of our progeny and destiny with the kind of fluency that it stuck in memory, at least the first two lines do, the rest, I need to determine. Spoken in a dialect that even with my knowledge of Yoruba I am yet to unravel meaning or import, but its rousing cadence suggests a meaningfulness that gave me a relationship I did not have with my other grandparents.

Of knowledge and memory

Yet, I write this to reflect on attachment and detachment that exhibits between my current familial ties, for which the forming of identity and how I identify remains a work in progress. For some things, there is a simple explanation, and for others, I might just be clutching at straws to make sense of how I belong.

If not for Facebook and the advancements in technology, many of the people with whom I share consanguinity, I would never have known or met. Quite a good few of those I have met, I can barely remember by face or by name. They belong in the deep recesses of memory sometimes irretrievable when brought to my notice that I either feign acknowledgement or admit a failure in recollection.

Having written all this, the purpose for which I commenced this blog has not been fulfilled, it would seem the right form of words to address attachment and detachment are yet to be realised. I have had this on my mind for a while, it might yet find expression in the next blog. Who knows?

When we stand up, we identify with shared victimhood

Deeper human interest

Much as I am more inclined to what documentary type programmes like railway journeys that serve as excursions to places around the world along with biographies and the histories of people, places, cultures and events, detective drama can be considered an unhealthy diet in understanding the nature and motivations of people.

Last night, I watched an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit which explores themes of sexual abuse and violation, some involving deaths and how the investigation unravels into some sort of closure. In this case, a teenaged popular social media schoolgirl was drugged, violated, photographed, and humiliated by the publication of her pictures.

Exhuming the truth

The process of getting to the truth of what happened went through closing ranks, accusations, bullying, threats and almost irreconcilable breakdown of relationships and friendships. That the boys involved were presumably friends of the girl was unfortunate, but the issues of teenage angst were quite adequately covered.

In the end, the truth of what happened was discovered without the need for the victim to relive the whole ordeal in court. The culmination was in the lead female police officer, Olivia Benson, visiting the school to discuss the issues around abuse, cyberbullying, and consent. The victim took the stage with the police office relaying what she went through, being the stronger through the experience.

Standing up to identify

Olivia Benson after giving a short talk persuaded everyone to participate in an experiment, instructing them all to close their eyes before asking the pupils affected by scenarios she painted to stand up. Those who had bad things said about them, those who had been humiliated, those who had lost friends due to some adverse situation, those who had been shamed or ridiculed, those who had been bullied, those who had been physically abused, those who had been sexually violated, and so on.

In turn, they stood up with more than half the audience standing, they were asked to open their eyes and which point Olivia Benson said, we are not alone, everyone is affected by these things and fear keeps people from talking of how they are have been victimised. Some then took the opportunity to talk of their own experiences, victims, bullies, or the silenced.

Talking helps people deal with the issues and knowing that the other people might just be as affected means we can help each other.

We share experiences

I already had tears in my eyes, I could be quite a softie when it comes to deeply emotional issues as this, much as I could relate to it all. I could have stood up for each scenario, the story of ostracism, victimisation, abuse, ridicule and damaged relationships could make books but for the saving grace of those things not ruling one’s life or defining the person one is.

We find that we need to stand up and be counted, not so much as victims or survivors, but as those who have experienced things to share amongst others to give each other support and succour drawing sympathy and empathy out of our involved humanity. I find it strange that a blog I wrote over 13 years ago when I first shared my story of child sexual abuse is being read a lot recently.

Blog - My Sex Post (January 2007)

Then, the blog was hosted elsewhere, and I was amazed by the number of comments that came in from others who had been abused and violated by paedophiles and hebephiles. The blog was like standing up to the prompting of what you might have experienced in life. That is why I write about these things, the taboo subjects that we have kept silent about with the hope they would sink away into the depths of passing and forgetful time, even if the scars take much longer to heal, if ever.

If we can, we need to stand up and be counted, so others might feel counted and not alone isolated in the thought that they are to blame for the harm inflicted on their bodily, mental, and sexual wellbeing.

Nigeria: A case of undignified self-importance

Self-importance and rage

It was strange to pick up news of an egotistical megalomaniac politician who had apparently become a law onto himself and committed an assault for which he might not get charged.

The dishonourable Chinyere Igwe a representative of Rivers State in the volatile Nigerian Niger Delta region was asked for his identification when he tried to enter the National Assembly Complex by the Sergeant-at-Arms rather than show proof that he had authorised access, he felt affronted and proceeded to slap the official twice [1].

Mr. Chinelo Nwolo, the Sergeant-at-Arms was eventually rescued by bystanders before he suffered grievous bodily harm.

Checks not nods

Whilst, it would be nice for security staff at the National Assembly to recognise and identify on sight any and all members of the assembly, the purpose for issuing identity passes is to ensure that the person holding a pass is validated by inspection of the relevant access material.

In fact, there are some members of the National Assembly that can be nodded through for the fact that they are well known, but without trying to be pedantic, the job of security personnel is to identify by inspection of identification documents or material before allowing the visitor into the complex.

Where that is not done, the security personnel would be derelict of their duties. The man was only doing his job.

A case of puffed-up arrogance

The dishonourable member however exemplifies a state of affairs in Nigeria where those in power believe they are above the law and should not to subject to basic house rules. To be challenged by a somewhat security agent would be to attract wrath, uncontrolled temper and rage leading to assault by reason of their view that they can be police, judge and jury exacting justice and proper retribution for the affront to their distinguished status.

It ought not to be so, a politician representative should be conduct himself with all manner of courtesy, comportment and dignity whilst appreciating that he is there to do a job and the security personnel have a clearly defined function that interfaces with their when it comes to security, security of access and safety.

In one other report, the representative referred to the Sergeant-at-Arms as a boy, a very derogatory epithet coming from an ill-disciplined man who by ways probably does not know how to reflect and make amends for wrongs he might have done.

Just doing his job

The Sergeant-at-Arms is an official of the Federal Republic of Nigeria whose office is well recognised in the constitution and it carries responsibilities and authority to which people especially lawmakers should defer without rancour.

On a very basic level, the assault should be seen as criminal and be reported to the police that should then take steps to prosecute the representative, referring him to the House of Representatives’ Committee on Ethics and Privileges is all well and good but it is hardly due process.

It goes without saying that if a man authorised to perform a duty in the centre of our legislature cannot freely do so without harassment and threats of violent conduct from the legislature, what hope do Nigerians have in other places of work when leadership provides no examples?

The Serjeant-at-Arms deserves more than just an apology from the representative, the leadership of the legislature should do well to ensure that the representative is properly upbraided, sanctioned and disciplined if necessary.

Overhaul security

In the end, it brings the security arrangements at the National Assembly into sharp focus, rather than have hapless men at the risk of unwarranted menace, the security access system should require all staff produce their passes that can be read electronically by some automatic access system and human beings should only get involved when that access fails.

In a perfect world, brutes like Chinyere Igwe should be in a correction facility where they should be intensively rehabilitated to recognise basic civility and good manners without too much self-importance. I do hope he gets his just desserts, as for the Sergeant-at-Arms, Mr. Chinelo Nwolo, I am all sympathetic and sorry about the incident, it must never happen again.

Source

[1] Rep slaps Sergeant-at-Arms | Daily Trust