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So many of my white American friends have never understood that when my parents come to visit that they of COURSE stay with me in my one bedroom apartment, and that my mother’s underwear will always be found hanging to dry in the bathroom. I know it’s funny, but that’s my life! When I was at MIT, my dorm head couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that when my siblings got out of school for vacation that they’d come stay with me in my matchbox of a dorm room. And, that if my parents had the money to come visit that summer, they’d book a hotel, but would always end up staying with us too! Crazy, yeah? I’ve found that situations like that are really hard for the average white American to understand. If you didn’t grow up poor, and you had the white picket fence and golden Labrador, ‘space’ was a right you acquired when you turned five, along with a play-themed room, which had a door that your parents had to learn to knock on to gain access to. Ha!

“Oh, stop the generalizing, iQWOC!” Well, if for the past eight years that I’ve lived here I hadn’t experienced looks of horror anytime I explained that my entire family usually stays with me during any given vacation/holiday period then perhaps my perception would be different. The fact of the matter is that – whether people want to admit it or not – if you haven’t had the immigrant experience, if you haven’t been dislocated from your culture in a new place, and you don’t even have family members (or even loud enough friends) that can say this, there are things about someone like me which are gonna be difficult to understand and/or relate to. Incidentally, it turns out that, of all the cultural groups that reside in the United States, Latinos are the ones whose experiences have most closely mirrored my own. Additionally, as I have come to identify partly as a “queer woman of color”, it follows that an even more specific subset of Latinos, queer latinas, most closely share my experience.

When I first arrived in New Hampshire for boarding school, the friends that I made instantly were from foreign countries – international students. I think most people would understand why that happened; we were all away from home, we could support each other, share our stories of culture shock, cook for each other etc. By the end of the semester, my group of international friends comprised mostly of students from South America. I honestly think that it was due to the fact that our cultures and general value systems were so close; family was the center of everything, and thus, your accountability to siblings, parents, grandparents… We talked about family and the differences we saw between here and ‘there’ all the time. Even the language barrier wasn’t strong enough to keep us from bonding (I was taking German at the time, not Spanish, but learned as we went along from listening to so much of their music – especially pre-crossover Shakira).

I’ve been asked a couple of times why (in place of Latinos) I don’t relate better to African-Americans/Blacks here, including people from islands like Barbados, Jamaica, Trinidad etc. Well, the fact is that those people living here (if, first generation) usually identify as American, which is still very removed from who I am and where I come from. I love to party with those groups hard due to the commonality in the music culture; bass and drums are clear signifiers of African rhythms. But, on the flip side, they don’t know what it’s like to live in a country where everything about your culture is made fun of (or pitied) ALL the time, and perpetuated negatively throughout the media, including to people who LOOK like you. Reggae and Dancehall have become part of the music in this country. Everyone knows and loves old Bob Marley songs, Buju Banton, Elephant Man, Sean Paul, Jay-Z, 50 Cent (even him!), and it’s cool to know their songs, dance to them etc. It is NOT cool to be African in the US, even though ALL of this comes directly from the culture I am so proud to be a part of. Rather, our art is routinely collected (stolen) and displayed in foreign countries as ‘mystical’ and ‘ancient’, while our music is viewed similarly to ‘strange’ foods from Asia, from a distance. Or worse, in some cases (especially when the songs are recorded in English), as a pitiful attempt to ‘copy’, and so ignored thereafter.

Language definitely plays a factor into this. Moroccan hiphop artists will tell you that even though their music thrives in the rest of the world, it has been poorly received in the united states, and any attempt to record in English is ridiculed (Hiphop in French and Arabic? Noooo). So, whereas most of ‘black music’ – Hiphop, RnB etc – and popular music from the Caribbean is readily accessible, and thus, accepted, because it’s in English, this is not the case with African music. They say that the core of culture comprises Art, Music, and Religion. And, none of these parts of Nigerian – or even African – culture, are available to me here. At least, due to the inter-linkage of history between Cuba, Mexico, and Puerto Rico (not to mention the influx of immigrants from neighboring South America), Americans are routinely exposed to Spanish-speaking cultures: bilingual educational policies, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Ana Castillo, Hilary and the Latino vote, Miami, Reggaeton thriving as a new genre… all these make it “cool” to speak Spanish and take Salsa lessons. And, before someone mentions “African” dance (as if we ALL dance in the same way all across the CONTINENT), even with that, as I mentioned before, the movements are usually viewed mystically, and placed within the Afro-Cuban religious context. It’s not REALLY my Africa they’re talking about.

African dance… That’s definitely another blog, for another day. My point is that since I have been completely displaced from my culture and work every day to find a place for myself in this country, I am more likely to relate to women in similar circumstances. Immigrant Queers – male or female – take the cake.

Queer Woman of Color, I am… but only here; this identity would vanish the minute I stepped unto Nigerian soil. But, even I am beginning to forget what identity would take its place… and even, what there was before.

If have to hear about yet another book, whose title sounds something like “blank, blank, and blank”, using variations of the following words: Race, Sexuality, Gender, Identity, Class and White Privilege, I will most likely shoot myself.

Just the other day, an enthusiastic academic brought to my attention a book she thought was worthy of merit. I believe it was entitled, “My Gender Workbook”, and, as the title suggests, it was in fact a workbook, for the curious reader to ‘work-through’ or ‘figure out’ their unique gender presentation. Naturally, I scoffed at this. I’ve little patience for “academic theorists” (or half-ass attempts at practicality, usually aimed at privileged and elite academic circles that can go on for hours and hours about the same subject using the same bloody buzz words). I’m an MIT graduate, and “mens et manus” (mind and hand) will always guide my thought process. I don’t believe learning should be wasted on concepts or “theories” that can’t be applied practically, or contribute substantially to the improvement of the human experience. I mean, sure, there is merit in publishing non-conformist garble about “blank, blank, and blank” but lately, I’ve become so fed up with all of it. Not only does it exclude me as a westernized “queer woman of color”, it excludes the most important part of my identity; my African heritage and immigrant experience.

It’s no surprise to me that most of the authors of these books are white. Or, even that the relatively small percentage of contributing people of color authors tend to be very light skinned (and with short curly hair). Hence, it should be just as readily acknowledged that people like me – iQWOCs, immigrant, queer, “Women of color” (what does that even mean to me as an African? This, too, sounds very American and twice removed from my own personal, ethnic womanhood) are often completely left out of such discussions. But hey! Before the academics jump in to remind me that the “intersection of race, class, and gender” deals with this issue of leaving “women of color” out of “white feminist thought”, let it be known that I am talking about a more granular level of inclusiveness; I was never a “woman of color” pre-biculturalisation, even though I have always been a feminist. An identity based on geography, and subsequently, discussions based on that identity, fall short of global relevance, which, in my book, does very little to impact the ‘human’ (not ‘english-speaking, american human’ experience in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes I have to take a step back, close my eyes and breathe because I feel completely invisible in this country, even among my friends, fellow queers, womyn like myself, who are angry about everything. Still, I feel completely invisible. I wonder, desperately, how it’s possible that an activist like myself, who has been organizing “queer women of color” in Boston for almost two years now, can feel so left out of her own work. Perhaps in my quest to ‘connect’ with Americans – being the bridge person that I am – I have lost that firm hold of my reference point (an african value system, 3rd world womanism, afrofeminism) and have left behind some of my culture? It was such a burden to carry it around. Everything offended me!

For example, just a few months ago I was at a friend’s potluck, in a room full of queer women of color. The “blank, blank, and blank”-type discourse commenced almost instantly after dinner, but at least we were chatting like regular people. Connecting. Sharing. On being queer. On being women of color. On the pros and cons of Alicia Keys coming out. On whether Missy should be forced to do so. On family, and what it means to disconnect from it. However, it was when someone responded to a woman, who had just proclaimed strength and individuality through her decision to break away from her homophobic family, by saying, “Well, not everyone is as strong as you. So many people are weak, and don’t have the courage to break free from their families,” that I fell back into a hole again, completely silenced by the statement as I remembered…

I’m in America. Where dog eats dog, it’s every man for himself, and kids actually ‘owe’ their parents money. I come from a completely different culture, where my strength and courage are shown through my consideration of my parents trials during their lifetime. Come out? Come out? Homosexuality is ILLEGAL in Nigeria. If I did, I would be thrown in jail, where I would most likely be killed by other inmates. And if nothing happened to me, my parents would be ostracized, criticized, and disgraced their old age. Why on earth would I come out to my parents? How selfish! My parents went bankrupt to send me here to school, they barely make ends meet, and I should repay them by being ‘out and proud’? Ugh! How selfish!

I understand that it’s real easy to stay ignorant about the social climate of the rest of the world in this country (since it’s really so big and it’s a keystone in the global economy), but the gall of it; the arrogance of it all, like there is ‘one’ queer experience in this ENTIRE universe, just really pisses me off. That, someone would get offended that I don’t jump at the idea of a ‘gender workbook’ when the illiteracy rate of Nigerian youth (included closeted queers who MAY benefit from such material) is over 70%. I mean, really. It just pisses me off so much, that in your most vulnerable, open moments, when you think you’re finally connecting with people who share ‘some’ of your experience in this country, you can get a reaction like that; the kind that reminds you that you’re still a ‘foreigner’ and people have to read books to understand you.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing, organizing for “queer women of color”, American queers. I’ve seen TWO Africans at my QWOC+ events, which means I’m not doing a good job of seeking out African immigrants, who don’t have the privilege (and burden) of navigating the bi-cultural experience. I need to bring my idealist passions closer to home in order to truly see myself as a part of the bigger picture. And I need to be a part of the bigger picture in order to do any work that matters.

Today I took a scheduled call with a reporter from Bay Windows, a local LGBT newspaper. I must admit I was a bit nervous; I’ve never had to deal with ‘real’ press before. But, I think it went well. I got my point across… or, did I?

When he asked me how QWOC+ was founded, I wanted to say “with a lot of anger”, but told him that the first social was co-sponsored with madfemmepride, a friendly ally. I wanted to tell him that I was sick of having to be ‘un-angry’ all the time, especially in the face of white queers, just so they can listen to me, just so I can educate ‘them’ about my experience as a black queer. Just so they can ‘see’ that I’m invisible, even for a moment. I wanted to tell him that even though QWOC+ Boston is doing extremely well – so much so that organizations and community leaders reach out to us now – that I was disappointed that I still have to fight.

Every day I have to fight with mainstream queer culture. With promoters that still don’t get that diversity and social integration isn’t something that can be commodified. With bigger non-profits that won’t give us sponsorship money but want to know how they can get “them” to come out to their events. I even have to fight with girls at the club STILL… people, they STILL ask me to teach them how to dance or worse, attempt to assert their talent “too” via a crazy dance routine a la Step Up 2:The Street, which really ends up making them look like they’re experiencing an epileptic seizure. I am SO fucking tired.

I’m tired of being a bridge person that has to field questions like “Why do you think QWOC+ Boston is an important organization?” in 2008, during what is supposed to be a very ground-breaking interview. Aren’t we passed this? Are white people still at the level where they need to ‘learn’ the answers to these questions in a classroom or race workshop? Isn’t it obvious why there’s a need for groups like mine? Why do I have to state the obvious in my interview?!

Sometimes I feel so down thinking about how much work there is still left to be done. Sigh.

This year’s madfemmepride and QWOC+ Boston sponsored pride party, “OPTIONZ” is going to be held at Underbar, a swanky, underwater-themed lounge located in downtown Boston at the heart of the theater district. And, well, ever since I picked up the contract, I’ve been constantly obsessing over my decision to rally my community into hetero-central, where the bars and boston’s so-called elite aren’t necessarily the most queer OR hip-hop-friendly.

Initially, I felt proud to have taken actionable steps towards securing a brand new location – I get tired of partying at the same four or five clubs every year – and looked forward to taking yet another huge step towards social integration, one of the principles on which QWOC+ Boston was founded; by holding one of the most diverse pride parties of the year at an ordinarily-straight and bourgeois establishment, QWOC+ would be paving the way for greater rainbow presence and acceptance in Boston, AND… increasing confidence to members of the community. We can go out in downtown Boston. We can do it without going through a ‘back door’ somewhere. We ARE a part of this city.

However, I had to stop and think about the pros and cons to doing this, and whether or not I was being too foolhardy with this venture and being naive about the average business owner. They don’t see social justice or progress. They see dollar signs. Or lack thereof. Who can compete with Boston’s downtown clientèle? The armani suits, business cards and airport terminal drinking habits crush the lesbian scene’s “I just wanted to give you this $5 drink because you’re so beautiful, goodbye” nights out. Hands DOWN.

Furthermore, women can’t boast same buying power as men (thanks to sexism), and we definitely don’t have the same alcohol tolerance (thanks to biology). Women are natural nesters (and before any academics/feminists jump me, watch the discovery channel), and just to make matters worse – oh yes, they can be – we’re not size 2-4, blonde, extension-wearing models for Guess and Bebe. The queer community represents an entire spectrum of gender presentations, and thus, dress styles. I am particularly worried about the more masculine/tomboi gender expression, who will show up perky and ready to see some pretty ladies, only to be greeted at the door with a ‘once over’ and reluctant smile at their ‘athletic gear’. So we’re not only dealing with homophobia downtown; we’re dealing with prejudice against hiphop, which indirectly means “Keep the colored people out.” Grrr.

All these reasons substantiate the scary outcome of lobbying so hard, fighting the ‘man’ so hard, playing HARDBALL extra hard with downtown’s ‘elite’ business owners only to have half the lezzie population hook up just before my party and not show up, or worse… have everyone show up only to be discriminated against… during PRIDE week, when it’s supposed to be cool to be queer!

So why am I doing this? Well, goddamnit, because I want to party in a place that looks nice! And, I know everyone else does too. We deserve a great girls night out, complete with swanky Sex in the City bar, fancy martinis, thin straws, chic bar stools and a pizza place that’s open after we get out!

I mean… don’t we?