Will Jawando
Nigeria
"Women are really the culture-givers in a lot of cultures," explained Will when asked if his father shared much of his Nigerian heritage with him when he was young. "Yoruba culture, which is where my dad is [from], it's the same, it’s that way... he didn't talk about home much."
"I have one memory of him sitting me down and trying, at my mother's urging, to make me listen to some tapes, some Yoruba tapes of the Yoruba language, to try to supposedly learn it, but I was real little and it didn't make any sense to me, and so of course, very little stuck."
Will Jawando's father, Olayinka Jawando, was born in Lagos, Nigeria. As a young man in the early 1970s, he won a scholarship to study in America, and took that opportunity to escape the violence of the Nigerian-Biafran War. He enrolled as a political science major at Fort Hays State University in Hays, Kansas.
Will's mother Kathleen Gross was born and raised in Kansas. Her family, generations back, had been immigrants from the Czech Republic, once part of the Austrian Empire. Her great grandfather had immigrated in the 1890s to Baltimore and then taken a chance on land out west-- 100 acres offered in middle Kansas as part of the Homestead Act. In the 1970s, Kathy was attending Fort Hays State University, studying graphic design.
Olayinka and Kathy met one night at Daisy Mae's, the local bar and student hangout, and soon fell in love, marrying in 1975. Kathy's parents were not pleased with the match, and her father never spoke a word to Olayinka. The Supreme Court case that legalized inter-racial marriage had only been decided a few years before they met, as a result of Loving v. Virginia (1967). But prejudice-- even within families-- was still prevalent, especially in places like rural Kansas.
Kathy's older sister Mary had been living for several years in Washington, D.C. Knowing of the difficulties her sister and her new husband were facing in Kansas, Mary suggested they move out east, where people were more accepting. The Jawandos moved to Long Branch, an already-diverse and affordable community within Silver Spring, in Montgomery County, Maryland. Their son, William Opeyemi Taofik Alabi Jawando, was born in 1983.
When he was six years old, Will's parents divorced. His mother remarried, and living with her and his step-father, Will saw his father only occasionally. He talks about one of the many changes that occurred during this time:
It's a funny story: prior to my parents divorcing, Yemi was my name. Like at home, at school… I didn't know my name was William. Wasn't told to me, my mom just happened to slide it into the birth certificate, but it was not used. So when they divorced, my mother says, “Your name's William.” So from like seven on, I start using William because she tells me to, but prior to that I had only used Yemi.
Young Jawando, around the time his name was changed from Yemi to William.
"I describe [my father] as an absent presence. He's there for the first six years, but we don't really have a relationship. He's dealing with lack of meeting expectations of family at home, or how successful he was supposed to be here and all those things. And you know, battling depression. And then my parents separate when I'm six, so that's even less contact."
Will talks about growing up in Montgomery County and some of the challenges he faced attending different schools as the biracial son of an immigrant.
Click the arrow at right to see transcript.
It was different. It was tale of two cities, which Montgomery County often is. You know, so early on, second and third grade, I go to a mostly all white school, in Chevy Chase, our Lady of Lourdes. My mom was Catholic, she– they--scraped every penny together to send me to Catholic school. And you know, that was a tough experience for me because it was very different from my neighborhood. All the kids were very wealthy, we were not. I was the only black or brown student in my class. And so I experienced a lot of discrimination, both from the teachers and from the students. And so that was a tough period.
Then starting in fourth grade, I moved to the public school in the neighborhood, with all the kids that I grew up in the neighborhood with, and different set of problems– like not being friends with everybody for years before and getting bullied and trying to fit in. Dealing with being biracial and that. Dealing with being– with having an African name. Right. You know, because one of the things that's another part of the immigration story– and we're not immune here–is that often the pressure to assimilate is immense, whether it's language, name, culture.. and so while some of the first generation of immigrants themselves or with their children, there's always that tension of-- particularly my sense of being an African immigrant, but I'm sure it's probably somewhat true for other immigrants too--it's like you, you don't want to be that. There's a pressure not to be that.