I identify as a believer in a power greater than humans, black, islander, Jamaican, straight, able-bodied, woman. This order bests suit my awareness and understanding of my identity today. Depending on where I am, that order changes. That clause, where I am, the element of being “local” means more to me now than ever before. My identity markers are interconnected and often impossible to separate. I have taken to Taiye Selasi’s views that asking “where are you local?” is far more meaningful than asking “where are you from?” The latter allows room for multiple experiences, experiences that shape our identity. Our relationships, rituals, restrictions, according to Selasi, defines those experiences and how we are able to define our locality. For example, my relationship with Pan-Africanism would not have existed but for my presence in the West, in a family in the West. My religion is completely tied to a black liberation theology: for me, a belief that Africans and those of African-descent must be self-sufficient. But that need for self-sufficiency was bred from restrictions in exhibiting blackness in spaces like school, where colonial rule ruled. Out of appreciation, resistance, deep love, my rituals, especially how I start my mornings, dress, engage with creation, remove shoes on entering a house, are rooted in what I consider by blackness, post-colonial, “third-world,” Pan-African self.
I find a lot of meaning in identifying as a West Indian islander. Referring to myself as West-Indian and not only Jamaican should show a lot of personal growth in inclusive language—for most Jamaicans, it still stands that “one from ten leaves nought.” Yet, through travel, I recognize that every country is special in its own way (you are welcome West Indian massive). As an islander, I almost innately understand that my worldview is just that, mine only. Because I can see the end of my land, and sometimes glimpse others (Jamaica is much closer to the Cayman Islands and Cuba than Alaska is to Russia!), I appreciate that others are around and must be just as important as me. Despite my love of Jamaica and my West Indian background, so much of my heritage is rooted in the cultural practices of Africans, I presume West African, South Indians, Syrians, and poor whites from Ireland (I have a running debate with my mother that her maiden name, Ireland, must have stemmed from some Irish overseer, but I am too much of a conspiracy theorist to ever do a DNA test).
I constantly struggle, with what it means to be at home or grounded knowing that my ancestors were uprooted from somewhere else. I often reflect on what it means to have a mother tongue—the ability to share in rituals of speech and storytelling just as my ancestors did. My close African friends, whether from the east or west of the continent, often laugh in amazement that I do not know what language, besides English, my grandmothers spoke. “You only speak English? What did your grandmother speak? No mother tongue? What do you speak in the shags?" No mother tongue. Yet, language and voice is important to me. The ability to write, speak, listen, be silent, is so important to my identity and I especially hold sacred the privilege of speaking up, the luxury of silent reflection, and promises of the written and spoken word: even if only in English. My dear East Africans, here is the open invitation to practice Kiswahili with me.
The privilege of voice and reflection, the restrictions that are often imposed on poor and brown children, whether in the global south or north, the rituals of sharing and grounding love in action and partnership are all catalysts for Growing Escapes. After working in education for almost 15 years, I fundamentally believe that people are capable of change. To teach is to change, to transform what is unknown or superficial to what is understood. Teaching is changing. I cannot identify as an educator without firmly believing that those who I teach, whether children, teachers, or teacher educators will facilitate further change. If people can change, the systems and organizations that are under our influence can also change. I hope to use this platform to share how we can change: personal development through intentional reflective practice grounded in self-exploration on identity and experience, travel, grappling with the arts and literature, moving to another continent! That personal growth coupled with efficient and people-centered systems and practices can also foster organizational change. Change that can profoundly affect the lives of children. I hope to model the value of reflection through this blog and through the personal development and organizational work of Growing Escapes. I expect that the first year or so of the blog will be dedicated to the adventures of moving across an ocean. Join me in my own move to Nairobi, as I escape to grow!
Love and liberation,
SD
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