Edition 2: Our Reflections on Blackness

This painting explores intimacy and family relationships - by Abigail Edu

Daniella Lomotey

‘Identity and belonging’ has been such a fascinating concept to me. In a globalised, digital and everchanging society; the thought of myself as some sort of ‘adapter’ or ‘chameleon’ while holding integral values best describes what this concept means to me.

There is something cool about being able to relate to or even distinguish yourself from others. I am an amalgamation of multiple identity factors. A good friend once said to me, we ‘all look for reference points in others depending on our environment’. For me, my ties to my Kenyan and Ghanaian heritage through cultural references from both my family in the UK and frequently visiting relatives in the wider diaspora have shaped my perspective on faith, food, music, culture, and dance. Equally my upbringing in a working-class borough in North London gave such a unique perspective on what it meant to be exactly ‘Black British’. Having influences from an array of backgrounds from Africa, the Caribbean and even Asian cultures has clearly impacted how I function and choose to place myself amongst these reference points.

I felt daunted and out of place when I first arrived at Oxford. My identity and sense of belonging was spun into question. Even up till now that feeling hasn’t totally gone away, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. It just means my ‘reference points' have just shifted and adapted because of the space I find myself in.

Black History Month is often a time when spotlight and emphasis is placed on reflecting and celebrating the contributions of black people of past and present. But often it seems to be a time when ‘struggle story’ narratives of Slavery or the Civil right movements to Mandela in Apartheid South Africa to the arrival of the Empire Windrush and the recent Black Lives Matter protests. Though these events have shaped the trajectory of history, it can often become tiresome hearing the same manner of conversations fixated upon. One can begin to question if all there is to their story is a month towards the end of the year, just 85 days before Christmas, in which the same histories are taught. That is not something I frankly look forward to, particularly as a history student.

The African and Caribbean Society has been an embodiment of a multitude of reference points for me and others in the wider university. The annual Black History month showcase focused on the theme of ‘What does Black history/Identity mean to us?’. I knew our members would celebrate our experience, identity and culture in a positive light. Here are a few of my favourite snippets from the insightful event which highlighted the wealth of talent from our members and guest speakers, ranging from poets to fashionistas.

‘Blackness is an acknowledgement of something bigger than yourself, there are people out there who bring you a sense of community’

‘Sometimes we don’t need to do more than exist. You are enough just by virtue of being yourself.’

‘We are really proud people; we like to dress up and go out and show people this is our cultural clothing.’

‘When you have gotten into oxford from a rough background, you sometimes don’t always get that same level of appreciation... it can kind of be a bit of a disconnect from those around you’

‘My attire is a piece of me... it tells me about who I am and where my ancestors came from. It is telling their story. And I am a living continuation of that legacy’

We can choose to carve out our own stories that showcase our sense of belonging or focus on impactful historical movements. The beauty of having loose and individual strings, that sometimes tie us together, exemplifies that we are all existing as living, breathing reference points. Black history is what we make of it.

This painting explores different portrayals (positive and negative) of Black people across different time periods - by Abigail Edu

Beau Boka-Batesa

Square, Community, Water, Electricity

My brother banged squares once.

Halifax gave him the benefit of the doubt,

Which is unheard of,

So, it had to be God’s will

“Square eyes” caught from watching TV,

pixels formed into quadrilaterals

that formed to visible realities,

near hallucinogenic,

confined to a box.

Squares are limiting,

But communities aren’t.

Fluid in thinking and thought,

Communities provide a home away from home.

Warm, wrapped up,

I feel like a baby pod-in-a-pea.

Pea-in-a-pod

Circular, same difference.

Communities can also divide.

Plagued by ideology,

Some members can attack others,

threatening the equality of a circle.

Communities hydrate.

Like water,

You can taste when something horrid’s entered your mouth.

The same tongue used to hydrate, and clean minds

Is the same one that threatens and orders others,

It’s all a bit scary.

We’ve got to get to the right side of the fluidity of water,

Because range is beautiful.

What doesn’t go with water is electricity

Sparks of energy rip roar into air

Homes and communities,

Leaving us humble citizens

To admire the formidable force, which sparks present, and incidentally enlightens us.

Electricity is beyond humanity---

----to which we are to ourselves,

And each other a legacy.

A girft to the parting world,

Legacies are the memories we allow each other to live on.

Tradition is just peer pressure from our ancestors,

But legacies are what keeps on giving

[so,] what will yours to the ones you love, be?

Sculpture: Afro paint brushes - by Abigail Edu

Charlee Wedderburn-Bolton

Please note that the following pieces were performed spoken word. Charlee would encourage readers to speak these works aloud and find their own rhythm or meaning as they go along.

My Pride Runs Deeper Than My Colour’

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

But words they cut right through me

The individual that dwells inside is alive, 

But a figure is all that you see

How high can I hold my head near you? 

How low must you stoop to demean?

Turning the other cheek is futile, 

And yet I’m told that’s the way to be 

Ignorance is bliss, not this

Preparing for every answer

Your distaste is a poisonous disease

And yet I’m the spreading cancer? 

Colours are not reason to be callous

You and your unending malice

I define my body as a palace

My culture? A marriage,

Of beautiful things you cannot disparage 

I am unique. 

Flavoured, feeling, un-fucking-yielding

“F*** you!” is what I should have said

But instead of the cheek, I turned my whole head

Around and away, to a better day

Because I am expected to hold the things I burn to say 

Sticks and stones and bones and the lot

I am merely existing, maybe persisting 

Maybe I’m really, really tired 

From constantly resisting but

I am unique. 

I think I’ll plate my bones with iron, 

Stop crying, as you’ll keep trying 

To break me, make me feel as empty as you

I am unique. 

And even your fear is just ordinary

Sculptures - Ghanaian Adinkra symbols made out of kinky hair extensions and wire - by Abigail Edu

‘Three Fates, One Eye’

I saw a man die today. 

He looked a little like me. 

I watched for 8 minutes and 46 seconds as he faded under a knee.

It seemed surreal, 

I didn’t know what to feel because wow.

Look at the stakes. 

Millions of people asking: Is that my fate? 

I heard a woman die today. 

She really had my eyes. 

To learn that they shot bullets before questions came as no surprise.

The outrage was immense,

Understandably intense because wow.

Is that all it takes?

My mother quietly asking: Is that my fate? 

I felt a child die today. 

He had my kind of nose.

I don’t need to tell you how they took his life,

because you probably know how it goes. 

This is getting unbearable, 

Truly terrible because wow.

For fuck’s sake. 

My little brother already asking: Is that my fate? 

I’ve been told to say their names,

But I’m starting to lose count,

The amount is getting absurd.

I’ve heard that revolution is coming.

That it’s silent and loud, will be televised by word of mouth. 

And yet we fall. 

400 years of suffering, and clearly 400 more. 

It’s a state, a fate that maybe I can’t ignore.

It could be me next as I walk to the store,

Or while I’m in church or out for a jog. 

They could do me in old-style and you might find me in a bog.

Or a ditch, or a lake.

Maybe that’s my fate.

It’s not fair. 

One of these days they’re gonna hang me for the texture of my hair. 

I know someone will die today.

They’ll have skin just like mine. 

Forced to be an unwilling martyr, their name will be another in the line. 

We are far beyond rage, 

Something has to change because wow.

There has to be a better world we can make. 

A world where my people aren’t asking: Is that my fate? 

Sculptures - Ghanaian Adinkra symbols made out of kinky hair extensions and wire - by Abigail Edu

‘The Sweet Life’

An Afro to the protest, 

A durag to the club,

Dreadlocks to keep it low-key, 

And braids to live it up 

Shea-butter in the winter, 

Castor oil in the hair,

Aloe for every purpose,

Some herb to clear the air 

We got Milo, or it’s Milo

Satin cases on our pillows,

And not to push our egos, 

But fashion follows wherever we go

We are stunning, 

We are shining

Not to boast,

But we are diamonds

Lovingly take and freely give,

We’ve shown the whole world how we live 

Our music, our words, we’re never shrewd

And at the peak of being generous, we’ve given our food 

Cause I know what’s in your kitchen, 

And I know you wash your chicken,

And whatever’s cooking in that pot, 

Well, I know the spice ain’t missing 

From the continents to the islands, 

For all our fussing and our fighting, 

We know we’ll always end up right 

Our shared roots they keep us tight 

Nah, this is the sweet life, 

And that’s an honest fact,

Cause man when I tell you,

It’s pretty good to be black 

A drawing depicting the versatility of black hair - by Abigail Edu