No place like home ?
Up until I was about 8 – 9 years old, I would say I was British. I felt pride in that, a sense of belonging. But I also knew I was from Sierra Leone. I knew I was born there, and my older brother, sister and parents had lived there for a period before moving to England. Life at 8 – 9 was simple. But at 11 – 12, I remember a conversation I had with my older brother (he would have been 19 - 20). He asked me, “What country you would play for if you made it professionally in football?” The answer came to me quickly with a perfect rationale. I would play for England. It was plain and simple. England was my home. It was where I went to school, where I made my friends, and where all the significant moments in my life happened. England was what I knew. But I also knew Sierra Leone was where I was from. It was part of my story, my heritage, and my identity, and I have my extended family there.
Questioning my identity wasn’t something I thought about as a kid. I’m not sure many kids do. I was too busy eating chocolate or playing sport. Yet, I remember several occasions where I would hear certain words from a sentence being said and it would not sit right with me - even at aged 8. These comments were not directed at me. They were overheard in conversations where my name had come up or I was aware they were talking about me, and I had happened to be in ear shot. The phrases I picked up on were, “English Boy. British child”. This would make me feel very uncomfortable; insulted even, for sure. At the time I couldn’t explain why I felt this way. I had no tangible reason to feel triggered by those comments. Especially when I “felt British”, I wanted to play for England and everything I knew was England to an extent. What I recognise now is that what a young Ken couldn’t quite articulate was that he felt judged. That they were telling me I am not really from Sierra Leone. That I did not really belong or represent. Which is funny because at the time I didn’t really know much about Sierra Leone. If I was asked as young child, I would say I was from England despite knowing I was from Sierra Leone. Knowing internally I wasn’t proud to say I was from Sierra Leone is one thing however, when someone from the outside points it out (knowingly or not), it triggers you and makes you defensive and I believe this is what young Ken contending with.
I am bit older now (the ripe old of age 29 lol) and my exploration and understanding of identity has changed as I have (allegedly) matured. I wouldn’t say I have a set identity or a place where I call home. I am both English and Sierra Leonean, but not really.
How you ask? Let me explain.
Firstly, to be honest, I don’t really want to claim to be English or British. Despite this, I can’t deny that I am - whether I like it or not. When you look at how this country treats people who look like me (in other words not white), it’s hard to want to get onboard and claim that as your own. When you’re aware of how England came to be as powerful as it is and the consequences for the other countries and individual’s lives… it hard to want to be part of that and claim that as your own. When you see the blatant corruption within the Government and see those who are struggling pushed into further poverty, it’s not something you can be proud of.
Despite all this, I cannot deny how British I am. My mannerisms have been built, informed and shaped all within England. For example, the most British thing that we all do… when out in a bar or restaurant, regardless of if it’s in the UK or not, when platters or cutlery are dropped, we all go “wheyyyy” for no reason other than it’s just something that British people do. It’s one of those endearing things we all share. I have been fortunate enough to travel to a few different countries and, regardless of where I have been, if there are British people there, this will happen. Another thing that reminds me of how England is part of my identity is our obsession with the weather. We’re never happy with it. It’s either too cold or too hot - it’s never perfect. But when we do get that three-day heat wave, we will start comparing the weather to other hot countries. Seriously why do we do this? When someone goes away on holiday the first question, we all ask them when we see them is, “How was the weather?” - it’s always the first question! These might not stand out as being odd or particularly English to some reading this (you may even consider it to be just normal) but these things are most definitely English and are part of the English identity. All things considered… I am from England. It’s part of my story and I have benefited from living in England. I’ve been able to get a free education, use the free health care system and have access to things many others don’t have. So, I cannot disregard the place where I have lived and grown up… however, I still struggle to call it home.
So, if England isn’t home what about Sierra Leone? Well, it is home…ish. As I have matured, I’ve realised how my parents raised us with the values of what home means to us as a family - a family with a heritage that is not based in the UK although we were now living here. I remember my mum used to say to me, “Outside the house is England, in here it is Sierra Leone”. Looking back now that statement rings so true. Things I deemed normal, weren’t so. For example, we had broom at home which we would use to clean the floor with (if you don’t know what it is, google African broom; other search engines are available). This was normal to me. I remember the first time Jo came to my parent’s house and she asked what it was. It made me realise how this isn’t everyone’s normal.
Despite being hundreds of miles from Sierra Leone, our house was filled with things from home. Nothing connected me to Sierra Leone more than the food we’d eat. I would say 5/7 days a week we would eat typical Sierra Leonean food. My favourite being cassava leaf with rice (this is effectively rice and stew). In theory it’s just food… but it’s more than that. Unknowingly, the food I ate growing up provided me a connection to home and to my culture. I feel like this gave me something tangible to connect with having not lived in Sierra Leone. This was my piece of Sierra Leone in England. Even now, this is my favourite thing to eat. I probably enjoy it more now because I spent more time eating it rather than learning to cook. However, this is something I plan to change.
The other connection were the parties. This is probably a blog in itself, but every couple of months I’d always be dragged to an ‘uncle’s’ or ‘auntie’s’ party. It used to feel so long knowing I’d have to be polite and talk to all my relatives until early in the morning. In hindsight, I can’t tell you how special it felt to be in a room full of Sierra Leonian’s, eat so much food I could barely move, and then dance all night with all the ladies – us Sierra Leonians can party. When I listen to certain songs now it takes me back to those parties and the good vibes and memories flooding back (strongly recommend listening to Tutu Party by Emmerson to get a taste of the party vibe). I missed this when I left home. But our wedding was a reminder of how our culture can celebrate and party like no one else. The wedding also highlighted to me that as an adult who grew up in England, it was no question that when the Sierra Leonian tunes came on, that felt like my music. It was the music I related to and identify as growing up with.
General living in the United Kingdom
Getting back onto the subject of living in the United Kingdom, I couldn’t and didn’t expect all the privileges of living in England to be equal for us. In other words, just because other kids (white/British kids) could get away with certain things, we were always taught that we didn’t have that luxury. There was a big noticeable difference between the level of independence between my friends who were first generation immigrants and those who were English. For example, me and all my friends shared the expectation that at home we had to do chores. Although we all had to do them, in my household, there was no debate or payment for this. My English friends, on the other hand, would get paid to do things like the dishes, hoovering etc. That’s if they had to do it. Whereas payment for such thing would have been a non-conversation. Going to university, I noticed many of my English friends (if not many of them) did not know how to iron or had never done their own washing before. This may sound trivial, but these things really showed me the difference in our upbringings.
What my experience of visiting Sierra Leone made me think about and realise
I remember my last trip to Sierra Leone about 4 years ago, I had interesting conversation with my cousin. To give some context, there is a term “JC” which means “just came”. It is used in Sierra Leone to describe someone who has not been there(home) for a while or someone who born there but not lived there. When I had been to Sierra Leone in the past, whenever anyone said it to me or around me, it would annoy/frustrate me because I took it as an insult that they were questioning my belonging and my right to be there. My cousin and I were out, and people kept approaching me to buy things from them. Now, this tends to happen whenever I’ve been in different countries. However, this was first time this had happened to me in Sierra Leone or in a black community. I naively mentioned this to my cousin. It was something along the lines of, “How come people approach me but not you? In theory we’re both black men in Sierra Leone, so what is this difference between me and you?” He rightly pointed out that despite us both being black, everything about him and I was different. From the way I dressed to the way I carried myself, and how my skin was a lot lighter. The fact me being lighter in skin shade showed that I had not been around for long. Now that’s not something I can control other than spending more time back home. But there were things I could do. For example, I was wearing trainers whereas everyone else was wearing sandals. These were subtle differences, but they highlighted the differences in lifestyle and thought processes. Some of this was conscious but a lot of was unconscious because I had grown up and lived a certain way.
The more time I have spent in Sierra Leone, the more I have begun to feel comfortable and feel like it was my home. On my first trip as a 9-year-old and going again at 15 - 16 years old, both trips I felt like an outsider looking in. As I have been able to recognise the difference between my sibling’s experience and my experience of Sierra Leone, I have been able to take things for what they are. My older bro grew up in Sierra Leone till he was about 10, same with my sister. They had their formative years there, developed those memories and family relationships there. Whereas I came to England at 6 months old. So how I relate to Sierra Leone and how they do is different. How my aunts and cousins relate to my brother compared to me is different. Before I took it as a slight, because I felt they didn’t treat me the same. But how could they? My upbringing has been completely different to what they know.
No man’s land…
I think I will always feel a bit of an outsider going back to Sierra Leone. But each time I go home I feel more comfortable and have a sense of peace that isn’t quite possible in England. It’s an intangible feeling that you can’t put into words but something I hope to find more off.
