Afropolitanism: meaningful or marketable?
I should
begin by stating that I do not believe there will ever be a reconciliation of
the argument surrounding the use of the word Afropolitan, and whether the word
has merit or is simply a trendy phase.
My purpose is not to change one’s mind one way or another. Rather, the argument for both sides is so prevalent
that a closer examination of the term in works of literature is necessary. Throughout
the course of the semester, the use of the term Afropolitan has been a topic of
great debate, not only amongst students but also amongst the many writers,
bloggers, and journalists studied to date.
At the core of this course is whether one believes the term Afropolitan
has any real merit or whether it is a superficial term. Because the use of the
term is so prevalent and seems to be a topic wracked with controversy, it is
important to compare and contrast both sides of the argument and how various
writers have both supported and negated the term in their works.
Before
attempting to dissect the various works studied this semester, it is important
to come to a clear understanding of the term Afropolitan, and why people either
support the use of the term, or reject it.
The first use of the term is usually traced back to March of 2005 when
writer Taiye Selasi penned the article, Bye-Bye
Babar. The title itself suggests
that the old ways of viewing Africans and the African culture must go, as
Selasi makes an allusion to Eddie Murphy’s highly stereotypical portrayal of an
African king in the 1988 film Coming to
America. Instead of viewing young
Africans in the West as heavily accented, inexperienced tourists, Selasi
suggests that this new generation of young Africans has transformed “from goofy
to gorgeous,” in the term she calls “Afropolitanism” (Selasi). Selasi further defines the term Afropolitan
stating:
There is
at least one place on The African Continent to which we tie our sense of self:
be
it a
nation-state (Ethiopia), a city (Ibadan), or an auntie’s kitchen. Then there’s
the G8
city or
two (or three) that we know like the backs of our hands, and the various
institutions
that know us for our famed focus. We are Afropolitans: not citizens, but
Africans
of the world (Selasi)
She
argues that Afropolitans are not limited by the borders of their continent;
instead, their identity is strengthened by their connection to their country of
origin, as well as their connections to multiple places around the world. The Afropolitan has redefined what it means
to be African in the twenty-first century, becoming a melting pot of education,
fashion, culture, and arts.
As
Selasi describes images of dancing the night away in jazz lounges or wearing
the latest London fashions, it is easy to write off the term Afropolitanism as
nothing more than a glamorous lifestyle choice.
However, Selasi is certain to make the point that there is a
responsibility associated with being called an Afropolitan. She states that for Afropolitans, “being
African must mean something” (Selasi).
The young Afropolitan must create a sense of identity through the
reconciliation of many pieces of self based on nationality, racial identity,
and culture. What is more, this sense
of identity must be greater than the individual. The Afropolitan must be willing to
“complicate” Africa. Selasi calls her
fellow Afropolitans to action, urging them to “seek to comprehend the cultural
complexity; to honor the intellectual and spiritual legacy; and to sustain our
parents’ cultures” (Selasi). Selasi’s
definition of Afropolitan does more than just give a name to the new breed of
young Africans in the twenty-first century.
Instead, the term attempts to grant complexity to a people and a
continent that has too often been over simplified and over looked. Through the term, Selasi attempts to celebrate
all that is wonderful while giving consciousness to all that is wrong on both
an individual scale, as well as on a larger national scale.
Though
Taiye Selasi has many supporters, there are also many people (both African and
non-African) who argue that the term Afropolitan is nothing more than a
superficial sub-culture that replaces the ideologies of Pan-Africanism in favor
of a more marketable lifestyle. Harvard
doctoral candidate Stephanie Bosch Santana describes the term Afropolitanism as
a word “that has increasingly come to stand for empty style and culture
commodification” (Santana). Santana
references a speech given at the African Studies Association of the UK meeting
in 2012 by author and journalist Binyavanga Wainaina where he describes
Afropolitanism as a phenomenon that is “’product driven,’ design focused, and ‘potentially
funded by the West’” (Santana). The
argument is that Afropolitanism focuses on style more than substance, with
little consciousness of the political and social problems facing Africans and
the continent itself. More specifically,
and more closely related to this course:
Wainaina points to a particular kind of
Afropolitan African novel that is frequently
produced—one
that touches upon social and economic issues, but ultimately is written
for an
audience of ‘fellow Afropolitans’. Overall,
a spirit of Afropolitanism has led to
texts
that are product, rather than process focused (Santana)
Wainaina’s
argument is that ideologies of Afropolitanism that praise what is new and
trendy have led to pieces of literature that are void of traditional conventions
and void of deeper meaning. He argues
that people are no longer “transported” by literature in the way that
Pan-African literature might allow, and that literature no longer has the power
to reach people.
Santana
and Wainaina are not the only opponents of the use of the phrase
Afropolitan. In an article entitled The Afropolitan Must Go, writer Marta
Tveit pens a seething article arguing that the term is nothing more than a
broad generalization that causes more harm than good. Her first argument is that the term hinders
African literature by creating a “reductive narrative, one which implicitly
licenses others to produce the same narrative because it has been confirmed by
the ‘Afropolitan’ herself” (Tveit). Like
Wainaina, Tveit believes that writers are no longer held accountable to compose
authentic and relevant material.
Instead, the ideologies of Afropolitanism allow for a generic and overly
simplified view of the African experience.
Tveit’s second argument against Afropolitanism is that the term itself
is too inclusive. According to Selasi,
the only criteria to belong to the club is that “they all happen to have one or
more parent who define themselves as coming from a country in Africa” (Tveit). She argues that this criteria is not enough
to attempt to unify a group of very different individuals. Lastly, Tveit argues that the term
Afropolitan is too exclusive when viewed from a socio-economic
perspective. She feels that Selasi is
speaking directly to the “technical middle class,” calling to action only those
of a particular socio-economic standing.
Ultimately, it is the over generalization in the phrase Afropolitan
which causes Tveit to scoff at Selasi’s loosely assembled ideologies.
Again, I feel it is important to recognize that there
does not seem to be a right or a wrong answer when it comes to the use of the
word Afropolitan. However, it is
important to look at the term from a literary perspective, and to compare how
both sides of the argument are represented in African literature. The first novel which represents the
ideologies of Afropolitanism is the novel Ghana
Must Go by Taiye Selasi. Ghana Must Go is the story of the
struggles a Ghanaian and Nigerian family faces as they attempt to assimilate to
life in America. The father of the
family, Kweku Sai, is a successful surgeon who attempts to create the perfect
American life for his children. This
includes working towards owning the perfect house, investing in his children’s
private education, and fostering an affinity towards the arts. On the most basic of levels, the members of
the Sai family would be considered Afropolitans. Not only do they have a national and racial
connection to the continent of Africa, but they continue to have a cultural
connection. Despite their assimilation
to American culture, the family is still aware of the African culture that
occasionally peppers their lives: the traditional African apparel the matriarch
Fola wears, the natural hair Taiwo wears in an act of defiance, and even some
of the family dynamics common to the African culture.
However,
it is when one further searches the layers of identity within the novel that
one is able to fully understand what Selasi means when she argues that the
Afropolitan attempts to comprehend cultural complexity and sustain their
parents’ culture. In a review of the
novel, Paul Carlucci discusses the Sai family’s continued connection to their
past and their family as he states, “the Sai family is projected from its
ancestors, the ambitions and failures of its members manifesting anew across
generations” (Carlucci). This is
mirrored at the beginning of the novel as Kweku departs from Africa, and at the
end of the novel when the family returns for his funeral. Kweku is one of the first generations of
Africans, beginning in the 1960’s, that leave Africa in search of a more
prosperous life in countries such as the United States, Canada, and Britain. Kweku settles in Pennsylvania and eventually
becomes a brilliant surgeon, all the while keeping the thought of his absent
father’s only lasting legacy, a one room shack, in the back of his mind. Kweku tries hard to consciously create “the
life of the Man Who He Wishe[d] to Be and Who He Left to Become” through his
self-image as well as the image of his family (Selasi 4). It is the failures of the generations before
Kweku that are ever present, and that sustain Kweku, and drive him to obtain
prosperity and notoriety.
The
weight of ancestry is once again realized at the end of the novel when the
family “returns” to Ghana for the first time to attend Kweku’s funeral. It is here that Sadie, the child that is
considered to show her “WASP-ness” more than the other children, makes a
connection to her African roots and comes to realize the importance that her
connection to Africa has to her identity.
Sadie suffers from a self-hatred that comes from her lack of association
with her ancestry, and a dislike of her “weightless” and almost transient
family. It is not until Sadie encounters
her father’s family in Ghana that she starts to feel comfortable in her skin,
describing the experience of traditional African dance as being “outside her
body or in it, inside it” (Selasi
270) for the first time in her life. It
is this physical and emotional connection to a rich history that allows the
Afropolitan to identify with this term, and to feel that being African means
something to which others (who are not from Africa) simply cannot relate. This signifies the return that Selasi urges
to the readers of Bye-Bye Babar when
she writes, “When will the scattered tribes return” (Selasi). Not only does the Sai family physically
return to Africa, but they return emotionally, mending a tribe that was once broken
and scattered, in more ways than one.
On the other hand, one could argue that Ghana Must Go does nothing more than
illustrate the marketability of the term Afropolitanism in terms of both the
lifestyle that is presented by the Sai’s as well as the narrative written by
Selasi. Both Wainaina and Santana make
the argument that the term Afropolitan is superficial, focusing on style more
than substance. In a review of Ghana
Must Go, Selasi is criticized for being “over-fond of her characters”
constantly focusing on accomplishments that “might be a bit wearying” for the
reader; but this trend falls in line with the criticisms of Afropolitanism
(Williamson). Instead of being moved on
a grander scale, readers are forced to focus on minor emotional details of a “clan
of overachieving jet-setters”. Fola
turns down a full scholarship to Georgetown to become a homemaker; Sadie is
upset because she never feels good enough as exampled by the fact that she only
attended Yale off the wait list; Kehinde becomes a huge artistic success while
traveling in Europe to escape his family.
Opponents of the term Afropolitanism would argue that these trivial issues
overshadow the more pressing concerns of a continent that faces poverty,
corruption, and disease on massive scales.
In her essay Bye Bye Babar,
Selasi argues that there is an “awareness among this brood of
too-cool-for-schools that there’s work to be done,” but if this is indeed a
call to action, where is the response by the Sai family?
Moreover, a major argument presented by challengers of
the term Afropolitan is that it leads to a simplified and generic narrative
that is created for mass Western appeal and production. In fact “the Afropolitan novel has become a
small trend,” with Ghana Must Go
being the latest fashion. These novels
flaunt luxurious lifestyles where money is fluent, travel is easy, and
“Western” issues are at the forefront of the action. However, this again fails to address the fact
that “to be a true Afropolitan takes more than a multi-cultural background
and the right record collection—it means having a commitment to making the
continent a better place” (Santana). The
novel is unable to transcend beyond a generic narrative of one family’s
emotional struggles because it has been manufactured specifically for
marketability.
Likewise, the novel Open
City by Teju Cole represents the spirit of Afropolitanism that is addressed
in Selasi’s article Bye-Bye Babar. The narrator of the novel is Julius, an
African immigrant who is in his final year of a fellowship at Columbia
Presbyterian Hospital in New York City.
On the most basic of levels, Julius can be considered an Afropolitan
because he was born in Lagos and relocated to America to attend University, he
is well traveled, traveling between Africa, America, and Europe, and he is
cultured, often discussing art, literature, and classical music. He fits the mold of the new twenty-first
century trailblazers and globe trotters who seek the same advancements of their
ancestors, but who also create their own paths at the same time.
However, it is once again when one looks at questions of
identity and connection to past that the deeper and more important sentiments
of Afropolitanism come into play. There
are major complexities in Julius’ character that can be realized from the first
line of the novel. When Julius speaks of
his walks around New York City, there is in implicit meshing of “the narrator’s
past with his present” in an effort to explain “his place in the world”
(Syjuco). Julius’ physical wandering is
symbolic of how he feels in life: lost and alone. Julius struggles to find a foothold between
the worlds of Africa and the Western world just as the characters in Ghana Must Go, and just as many other
Africans of past and present. There are
occasions where Julius is aware of not being African enough, and not being
American enough. In NMS, the Nigerian
Military School, Julius feels a sense of isolation because he has fairer skin
and because he does not go by his Yoruba middle name. He is treated differently, looked upon as a
foreigner in his own country, stating, “being Julius in everyday life thus
confirmed me in my not being fully Nigerian” (Cole 78). There are also occasions when Julius
questions his Americanah. From the
beginning of the novel we learn that Julius is an aficionado of various forms
of music. However, when discussing his
dislike of Jazz music, he states “I…even occasionally worry about why I seemed
not to have a strong emotional connection with this most American of musical styles”
(Cole, 24). This thought appears to be a
minor and fleeting thought in the context of the story, but it shows that Julius
is concerned with his ability to connect to what is considered to be part of
American (particularly African-American) history. It is also important to note that this concern
comes to Julius as he is walking, his walks being symbolic of his attempt to
find identity through a reconciliation of past and present, of African and
American. On a grander scale, Julius
tackles global issues that are not specific to a particular ethnicity, but are
particular to the human race: questions of finding one’s place in the world,
questions of morality, and questions of reconciling differences. It is this connection on a personal and
global scale that is characteristic of Afropolitanism.
In contrast, those who criticize Afropolitanism could
once again argue that this novel falls into the “trend” of something easily
marketable, much like the ideologies of Afropolitanism itself. Open City
can be described in this way for the three reasons previously mentioned
by Tveit: it is a reductive narrative,
it is too inclusive, and it is too exclusive.
Firstly, the character of Julius easily mirrors the characters in Ghana Must Go because, as Tveit argues,
Ms. Afropolitan herself (Taiye Selasi) approves of such a formula for
portraying Afropolitanism. Open City is again, the personal tale of
a young, affluent, globe-trotting African who forces the reader to be privy to
all of the noiseless chatter within his mind.
The story “moves in the shadows” of other novels and writers because
“publishers now push their books like Hollywood concepts” (Woods). Instead of writing an authentic novel,
unhindered by the confines of Afropolitanism, Cole has chosen to follow a
proven method for success in following the trend of writing for marketability
over meaning.
In addition, it can be argued that like Afropolitanism, Open City is both too inclusive and too
exclusive at the same time. Because
Julius has become accustomed to a life of luxury in the “technical middle
class,” he becomes too inclusive, seemingly speaking for an entire group of
people who have only a continent or two in common. Cole writes, “So I read aloud with myself as
my audience, and give voice to another’s words” (5). This demonstrates how Cole, as a writer,
takes on the responsibility of being the voice for an entire group of people
who do not necessarily need a voice like Cole’s to tell their narrative. In addition, Open City becomes too exclusive in whose story is being told. When speaking in general terms about humans
in the twenty-first century, Julius says, “we are the first humans who are
completely unprepared for disaster. It
is dangerous to live in a secure world” (200).
However, there are plenty of humans who live each day with the threat of
violence, poverty, disease and misfortune.
Ultimately, it is this over-generalization in the ideologies of
Afropolitanism that leads to Open City
failing to break from the trends set forth by the term.
Finally, it is important to view how Afropolitanism is
positively represented in the novel Americanah
by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Like many
of the novels listed before, the novel deals with the travels of native born
Africans between Nigeria, America, and Europe.
However, the main characters, Ifemelu and Obinze, “represent a new kind
of immigrant ‘raise well fed and watered but mired in dissatisfaction’. They aren’t fleeing war or starvation but
‘the oppressive lethargy of choicelessness’” (Peed). From the onset, the novel challenges
naysayers of Afropolitan ideologies who argue that the term is
superficial. Ifemelu and Obinze are very
self-aware and very culturally aware, even as young high school students in
Nigeria. Moreover, when Ifemelu and
Obinze travel to America and Europe respectively, they do not experience the
luxurious lifestyles that opponents of Afropolitanism often criticize. Both are destitute and have to resort to
questionable actions to support themselves including exchanging sexual favors
for money, paying a percentage of a paycheck in exchange for working under a
legal identification, and paying for an arranged marriage for citizenship. These experiences not only lend an
authenticity to the story, but also negate any arguments of superficiality.
What’s more, Ifemelu is a great example of an Afropolitan
because through her self-realization, she is able to determine what it means to
be both American and African at the same time.
When she comes to America, she slowly transforms into an “Americanah” or
one who sheds their African culture in an attempt to assimilate to American
culture. This can be seen in the way
that Ifemelu perms her hair in order to mirror the American ideals of beauty,
and in the act of “losing” her African accent.
However, it is when Ifemelu figuratively returns to her roots that she
embodies the awareness of an Afropolitan.
“Ifemelu thrives, in part, because she seeks authenticity” by wearing
her hair natural and speaking with her original accent (Peed). It is through these acts that Ifemelu
realizes what it means to be an American African, and realizes the importance
of creating individuality among various racial, national, and cultural lines.
Lastly,
one of the most important distinctions of this novel that supports the term
Afropolitanism, is the fact that in the very first chapter Ifemelu informs the
reader of her plan to return to Nigeria.
Many of the critics of Afropolitanism argue that more could be done for
the continent if its people were to return instead of jet-setting across the globe. Ifemelu recognizes this and sets into action
a plan to return to Nigeria. Unlike
Obinze, who is deported, Ifemelu has a wonderful life in America. She attends school, befriends fellow African
immigrants, has a steady boyfriend, and writes a successful blog on
race-relations in America. From an
outsider’s perspective, Ifemelu has no reason to return back to the place of so
much uncertainty and unrest. However,
she states that Nigeria “became where she was supposed to be, the only place
she could sink her roots in without the constant urge to tug them out and shake
off the soil” (Adichie 7). Ifemelu is a
true Afropolitan because she realizes that self-awareness is not enough; she
realizes the importance of going home.
Finally,
it is important to view Americanah
from the perspective of one who does not support the use of the term
Afropolitan. Once again, the main
argument is that the novel follows a generic pattern to create literature that
is more marketable than meaningful. Like
the other novels aforementioned, Americanah
is criticized for falling into a generic category of what is trendy at the
moment versus what carries weight. When
discussing Adichie’s motives as a writer, Aaron Bady states, “she is a writer
who wants to be associated with the fashionable trends of the moment,
who chooses her subject based on how it places her”. He argues that Americanah lacks merit as a novel that deserves to be read, and
instead stands as a book that prefers to be seen for its aesthetic appeal. This same argument is demonstrated through the
characters of Ifemelu and Obinze. Bady
argues that the majority of the novel focuses on the “bourgeois pettiness of
the petite bourgeois”. The problems
faced by Ifemelu and Obinze are miniscule in comparison to the subject of Adichie’s
prior novel, “a national trauma that scarred a generation” (Bady). Adichie’s novel fails to fall into the
category of meaningful art that transports the reader. Instead, Americanah
focuses on aesthetic appeal that is very product and consumer focused.
In the
end, there are many other novels that fall into the category of the Afropolitan
literature. For some, this genre is a
means to tell the story of what it means to be an African of the world. For others, the Afropolitan novel is just a product
of the Western capitalism. There are
viable points on both sides of the argument.
Those who support Afropolitanism do so because it offers a means to not
only gain identity, but to use that knowledge for the betterment of a country
in shambles. On the other hand, opponents
of the term Afropolitan claim that it is a superficial term used to flaunt a
specific type of lifestyle that is too inclusive and too exclusive at the same
time. What is important is not the
stance one takes on the matter; what is important is that the debate itself is
giving more of a voice to a people, a culture, and a continent that have been
silenced for far too long. The stories
are there for those who are willing to listen.
Works Cited
Adichie, Chimamanda
Ngozi. Americanah. New York: Random
House, 2013. Print.
Bady, Aaron. “Chimamanda
Ngozi Adichie’s Personal Achievements.” The
New Inquiry. 15
March
2014. Web. 7 May 2015.
Carlucci, Pual.
“Review-Ghana Must Go.” Think Africa
Press. 25 Feb 2013. Web. 7 May 2015.
Cole, Teju. Open City. New York: Random House, 2011.
Print.
Peed, Mike. “Realities of
Race.” The New York Times. 7 June
2013. Web. 7 May 2015.
Santana, Stephanie Bosch.
“Exorcizing Afropolitanism: Binyavanga Wainaina explains why “I am
a Pan-Africanist, not an Afropolitan”
at ASAUK 2012.” Africa in Words. 8
Feb 2013. Web. 7 May 2015. <http://africainwords.com/2013/02/08/exorcizing-afropolitanism-binyavanga-wainaina-explains-why-i-am-a-pan-africanist-not-an-afropolitan-at-asauk-2012/>.
Selasi, Taiye. “Bye-Bye
Babar.” The LIP Magazine. 3 March 2005. Web. 22 March 2015.
Selasi. Taiye. Ghana Must Go. New York: Penguin, 2013.
Print.
Syjuco, Miguel. “These
Crowded Streets.” The New York Times.
25 Feb 2011. Web. 7 May 2015.
< http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/books/review/Syjuco-t.html>.
Tveit, Marta. “The
Afropolitan Must Go.” Think Africa Press.
5 Nov 2013. Web. 7 May 2015.
Williamson, Eugenia.
“’Ghana Must Go’ by Taiye Selasi.” The
Boston Globe. 9 April 2013. Web. 7
May 2015. < http://www.bostonglobe.com/arts/books/2013/04/08/book-review-ghana-must/NA7HArJ0YFKECESGcrdXlM/story.html>.
Woods, James “The Arrival
of Enigmas.” The New Yorker. 28 Feb
2011. Web. 7 May 2015
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