home
/həʊm/
noun: a dwelling place; a person’s house or abode; the fixed residence of a family or household; the seat of domestic life and interests.
adjective: to or at the place where one lives.
adverb: to or towards one’s home, house, or abode; to the place, region, or country where one lives.
I’ve often found myself thinking about what it means for the diaspora to return ‘home’ and I’ve been reflecting on this again after recently watching The Homecoming documentary by BBC Africa Eye.
The reflections that often come to mind are:
1. The privilege the diaspora has to even make the choice to return.
2. The diaspora’s responsibility to ensure they have self-awareness of their privilege (and behave accordingly).
3. Those within the diaspora that can’t or don’t want to ‘return’ to somewhere they don’t consider home.
…and more recently:
4. Can we call a place ‘home’ when we’ve never lived there? And/or is the very essence of the diaspora identity one which means we can call anywhere home?
For those that know me, they’ve probably heard this story before but I will share it again because I always think it bears repeating. Years ago, I was having a conversation with my cousin who was studying in Europe and I asked him if he planned to return to Nigeria which he responded he absolutely did not plan to do. In that conversation, I expressed how I thought it was interesting that japa (referring to Nigerians who were leaving the country) was a growing phenomenon while many people I know had or were considering moving to Nigeria, Ghana and other countries across Africa and the Caribbean. His response: ‘you can do that because you know that you can always leave’.
That conversation always sticks with me because there was a truth in it that I subconsciously knew but hadn’t actively considered. I enjoy travelling for fun and have organised travel for others as part of my work so I understand how passport privilege is a very real thing. As someone who has also considered living in Nigeria for an extended period of time, I recognise that in the worst-case scenario it would take very little for me to book a flight back to London if I needed to.
I feel that when I raise the topic of diaspora privilege in this context, people think I’m passing a judgement on them. That couldn’t be far from the truth. I understand that associating privilege with Black people who live in countries in which they have no privilege can feel uncomfortable but we need to learn to sit in the discomfort and the nuances of our diaspora identity. If we can understand male privilege or able-bodied privilege, we should be able to understand wealth privilege or passport privilege. Personally, when I talk about privilege, I’m not passing judgement. There is no emotion in it. For me, I’m simply stating a fact – one which also applies to me. It is possible to not have a large amount of privilege in the UK but have it in a country like Nigeria.
I know that the diaspora can feel ‘othered’ when moving countries - the challenges of having multiple identities – but this specific newsletter is not about that. I also wonder if we are sometimes ‘othered’ because our behaviour is too focused on flashing cash and showing ‘the Africa you don’t see’. It may be an unpopular view but I do think there is some value in the latter but too often, it’s not done respectfully and feels a bit too capitalist for me. The very reason we’re even able to portray ‘the Africa you don’t see’ is because of our privilege. The diaspora often has access to a very specific and very narrow experience of living in a country. This is not limited to the diaspora; I’d argue that elites in that country have an even narrower experience.
However, the truth remains that if I were to move to Lagos tomorrow, I’d definitely live a more lavish lifestyle than I do in London and rather than shy away from it or make excuses for it, I like to think I’d be honest and aware of it. Why move and ignore that fact? Why move and then treat people based there as if they are beneath you simply because you have more money than them? Is that not perpetuating the same behaviour that we suffer from in the UK, Europe and US?
I do think there are some people who move specifically for the privilege – subconsciously or consciously - but not everyone can or wants to move ‘home’. There is a conversation to be had about those that are able to but not willing to explore a world outside of what they’ve always known but more generally, I believe that people have a right to live and live comfortably in the place they were born and raised in. The sentiment ‘the UK is bad vibes so just leave’ being a solution to the challenges we face doesn’t make sense to me because I view it as the cousin of ‘well if London is too expensive then just move’. Is this really the best we can do? Do we have no bigger imagination than that?
Some people want to live near their friends and family, some people have caring responsibilities, some people actually do like living in the UK, and so many of these people don’t have a desire to pack up their bags and move countries. Although I might not personally relate, I don’t think we should vilify or look down on people who are inclined this way. The solution cannot be expecting 0.4% of the UK population to move countries? It’s lazy. It’s much easier to ask people to find somewhere new to live than to engage in the community work, the local and national advocacy, the policy change to ensure that we live in an environment that is welcoming, to ensure we can live well in the cities and countries that we were born and raised in.
Lastly, the newest reflection I’ve been mulling over is how can you call somewhere home when you’ve never been there? You have no experience of that place and yet you’re ‘returning’ ‘home’ to a place that you’ve never lived in. A place that has never been your fixed residence. A place that you have no formative experiences in. Does the diaspora get to claim these places as a ‘home’ they are returning to? Is the meaning of ‘home’ a more expansive one for the diaspora because of our nuanced identity? Or should we be more specific about our language? Is the truth that we are not ‘returning’ ‘home’? We are not ‘returning’ to anywhere? Is it as simple as we’re emigrating to a different country in the same way that many of our parents did?
I’ve not yet arrived at an answer to these questions but I’m enjoying grappling with them and hope that you’ll share your own opinions and reflections. I like the idea of creating a space for community learning where all of our experiences can shape what we think and believe, or at the very least help us consider various perspectives.
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Ahh great read! I'd love to have a conversation with you about this in more detail bc I'm always reflecting what it means to have diasporic privilege and a home away from home etc.