Redefining Definition 1: Why Paris?

“Why must I be one thing?”

 A question I seem to be asking myself and others a lot lately. Perhaps, a consequence of a new environment, a new pursuit, or an intense need to move freely.

After living in Prague for the first 7 months of 2021 , I arrived in New York City to begin my medical schooling. Almost as swift as the change in pace of courses came the feeling of confinement. My Fulbright experience has been one of the most enjoyable and memorable experiences of my life. However, it was not without its difficulties. As detailed in previous posts, I encountered experiences of different cultural perceptions. And in those 7 months I lived there, those labels almost became laughable. (Or perhaps, it was my attempt at using humor to cope that got me through).

However, upon arriving back in the U.S,  the labels reappeared- now in a nuanced form. In Prague the statements were along the lines of: She is not a scientist, she is Black. In the U.S they became: she can be a scientist, but only in this way because she is Black. In Prague, it was a lack of knowledge and exposure that led to these statements. In the States, it was an attempt to limit the way freedom is defined. The scientist example above is simply one medium of confinement. Carry this to culture and the labels in the US go, she is ____, but only if she does _____, ____,  ____. And so in the span of 12 months, the nuances in stereotypes have transformed from stemming from a place of naiveté, to one of the need to confine.

So while I’m navigating the intricacies of the body through courses in Anatomy and Genetics, I face a juxtaposition in the contrast between the freedom of my body’s building blocks, versus the freedom of the whole self they unite to create.  I learn and see different molecules take on multiple roles as dynamic seems to be the name of the game in biology. From muscle to molecule, the biological aspect of myself is allowed- free to be and do- multiple things at once. Yet, the very body it creates, the very human that is born from these micro-parts must fit into one definition of self.

 

The Tipping Point

A few months ago, I was in a conversation. I was asked to give my full name and I went on to do so. Explaining, how my parents arrived at the selection of each name. The first two-being the name of this blog, the following name an ode to my father’s tribe to remind me of my birth order as the second daughter, and the next from my mother’s tribe to remind me of the significance of my day of birth, with the last being my family’s name linking me to generations of stories, lessons, losses and triumphs.

 

The response: “Abrofo nsem”- white people’s business. How can you call yourself African when you have a Spanish and English first name?

 The irony of this statement: The person with this response has an English name, lives in the United States, and is not original in this remark. My immediate reaction was to attempt to state: Ghana is a country with over 100 tribes, and different regions. Surely, the image of a Ghanaian cannot be reduced to a singular definition of whole continent- Africa.

But I sat still and laughed it off… internally asking myself if perhaps I had missed the lesson in primary school where we all decided to be one identity?

The Significance:

In 2012, a TEDX speech by Nigerian writer gained traction in our social consciousness. “The danger of a single story”. In this speech, Ngozi warned of the loss in richness of life when we reduce people to our singular perception.

 As someone interested in mental health, I am learning that the consequences we suffer as a whole trickle down and affect individuals at the mental level as well, and can become a source of despair, addiction, and further illness in life.

For immigrants specifically, there is often a sort of longing to reconnect to “the motherland”. In pursuit of doing so, arises a sort of pseudo revolution of what is authentically reminiscent of home. A former child of a village in the North describes Ghana differently from one born and bred in the streets of Accra. One woman deems hair styles as her revolution, while the other deems educational pursuits as her modus de “f- the system”. Yet, in seeking community and reconnection, these little hints of nuances are ignored leading to a formation of an image of the country which ironically, ends up not being representative at all.

In short: When who we are and the basis of our identity is questioned, when we are defined by limitations of others, our mind, interactions, and consequently progress as individuals and also as a collective is negatively affected.

 

Why Paris?

And so in reflecting on these past few months, the words of Ngozi to Camus, Achebe to Beauvoir have become a sort of refuge. I remember reading of the intersection of Black identity exploration and art in Paris. From Baker to Hov, Bey, and Ye, Paris is known to be (in some ways) a liberation of Black self-expression and art.

 And so, in seeking to explore this for myself, to be inspired, to challenge my own opinions, and to find answers for redefining definition, Paris became the first on the itinerary.

So to learning and growing.

Xoxo,

BT.