Behind Bars

I was born behind bars. Behind fleshy walls of wonder disguised as my mothers womb, behind darkened wallpaper that erupted fear from others disguised as my skintone, behind skin that tighthend overtime which attracted unwanted attention disguised as my curvaceous figure and amidst chaotic brawls within my mind of how to arrange the words that danced around my lips. 

Growing up as an African woman exposed me to the endless weaponized words of people around me, my words were trained to conform to the expectations of society and fit the molds of those around me. I had to be lady-like, respectable, intelligent, graceful, loving, understanding and articulate when the setting requested, such skills were combined to create the spitting image of perfection because that is the life of an immigrant. We are raised to manipulate our vocabulary and dialect to fit into a setting or in order not to be left out of opportunities that are unattainable back at home. 

It becomes natural; an unspoken habit shared amongst all of us. The power to “code-switch” to create and destroy our identities in a matter of seconds in order to create a worthy impression on “higher-ups” in our lives or society. I speak “pidgin” when I am amongst Nigerians (especially elders) in order not to seem “porsche” or I have to at least adopt an African accent because americanized tones of speech are looked down upon or lead to some form of bullying, as others feel as though you have forgotten where you came from or want to express superiority by sounding “different”. 

Even if you run away from Africans, “code-switching” continues around Black people. I have to seem and sound a bit “ghetto” or “ratchet” in order to stray away from my traditional African backgrounds, my slangs must match theirs and my way with words must be understandable inorder not to sound “white” or too “African”;. The stereotypes that African-Americans run away from are used to validate my acceptance into their society; quite ironic and sad. 

My mouth has restraints no matter who I am around, those limits become bars and eventually

form a prison for what I am allowed to say and how I am allowed to say it. In my current school, I am the first fully raised Nigerian to enroll and the only black girl in my grade, this calls for constant change. I have to sound delicate and sweet in order not to be seen as the aggressive black girl, I have to sound tough and confident when we go off campus for lunch because all the other girls are short and dainty so they expect me to protect them in the rough streets of Los Angeles County, I am expected to sound intelligent and accurate as my skin toneskintone and African origin makes others assume that I lack brainpower and I am also expected to tone down my Nigerian slang or not allowed to sound "ghetto" with my black slang as others on the table look at me dumbfounded or make me feel uncomfortable about it. 

However, I was able to mold those bars into shapes that fit my body and push my way through whilst staying true to myself in a vulnerable society. I still make the same jokes, speak my mind, express my emotions and communicate effectively in my own way but in formats that are understandable to my audience; I find a middle ground. I think that is the best way to approach the immigrant “code-switching” concept. Instead of completely removing our identities whilst switching forms and losing our uniqueness, we should keep our original perspective towards situations but address them in a way that our audience understands. Basically, those bars do not need to be completely destroyed, they need to be manipulated with some tool or heat to be molded into your unique path.