The First Bridge To The Gap

Written by: Sophia S. Vilceus

Nigerian. Haitian. Ghanaian. Bajan. Wolof, Grenadian…, perhaps this is why we attempt so desperately tolatch on and hang for dear life to our prospective “identities” for the reason that so often, once walking down the street, once applying for the new position or filling out that census, we are no longer the aforementioned, we are stripped and we are simply labeled as one thing, one simple yet complex shade-- “Black”--completely voiding us of all else, all other culture, all other ethnicity, all other history; we merely become a hue.

In grave attempts to respond to that particular master narrative which states that we are all one in the same, there is often the attempt by us to prove our individual cultural beauty and intrinsic and subtle nuances; in that moment we quite often inherently and unconsciously separate, disassociate, distance, and misguide ourselves from one another. In other words, the Haitian woman can longer perceive her commonality with the Igbo woman; the Ghanaian man can no longer accept that he too faces an extremely similar struggle as the Grenadian man; and the Bajan child cannot even fathom that perhaps her ancestors were displaced from Senegal at one point. In that, we then actualize the exact intent of the folks that tried to box us in, in the first place—we  consequently become fragmented, disjointed, and disconnected from each other; we become a person as opposed to a people and commence to create a metaphoric international civil war amongst ourselves—and because this war is fought primarily in our subconscious, we do not realize the graveness of its causalities until we are mistakenly assumed to be of a culture that we do not “belong” to—that is when the swords are up and the bullets are ready to fly; that is when our words become vile and our pride overshadows all else; that is when we take it as complete and blatant disrespect when someone calls us Haitian when we are really Jamaican, when folks mistake us for Chadian when we are really from Niger and so forth...

I absolutely believe in the importance of not only representing, but embodying ones sense of culture. As a woman of Haitian descent, it was not until I understood Haiti that I understood Africa; it was not until I embraced Africa, that I genuinely embraced Haiti. It was not until I vibed to P- Square that I sincerely appreciated the rhythm of Kompa. My premise is that our embrace amongst our culture(s) do not need to be “either”, “or”—we are entitled to be all and should feel at complete liberty to embrace every fiber of our being—in our social consciousness, we must not limit ourselves by the ways that others expect us to be limited... In me, I am assured that I am Haitian. In me, I am also assured that I am African; and those two entities coincide more so than they do clash—a notion that many fail to recognize.

At times, in this column, my frankness and my honesty will step on a few toes; I believe in anecdotes and real talk—they are often the entities that give authenticity and validity to otherwise lackluster sentiments. I once wrote: “At times, good writing steps on some toes; just wear protective footwear next time, because I'm not always in the business of sparing feelings…” Honesty and frankness simultaneously give birth to truth and clarity, which is my sole aim for “Bridging The Gap.”

Although this is valid for many cultures, in the Haitian one especially, marriage and children signify the “ideal” life, a purposeful existence, and a fruitful being. Even only in my early twenties, I have already begun to feel those conventional pressures… “Bridging the Gap” truly came to fruition in my mind when my grandmother and I were having an intimate talk and discussing my potential romantic relationships, when she pleaded, “jis pa retounen ak yon akrifan” (just, don’t bring home an African).  Instantaneously, the rebellious teen peered out of me as I wanted to seek the very person that my grandmother told me to avoid; in that moment, I became disgusted, appalled, and even rather disheartened from the unawareness of such an often wise woman—I thought: anyone who disrespects my motherland will in turn have to hear something from her Daughter; therefore, this column is my rebuttal and response-- it is my voice.

In that moment, I rolled up my sleeves and actualized the cultural endeavors that I had to pursue for my people---in that moment, “Bridging The Gap” was conceived and I sincerely pray that from here on out, our gap between Africa, the Caribbean, and the entire African Diaspora will continuously be amalgamated to further a more united and smooth walk alongside one another.