#aymaran

Tunic from the Wari Civilisation (modern-day Peru) (A.D. 600-800)

Hat from the Wari Civilisation (modern-day Peru) (A.D. 600-900)

Hat from the Wari Civilisation (modern-day Peru) (A.D. 600-900)

Tunic from the Wari Civilisation (modern-day Peru) (A.D. 600-800)

Last week I visited New York City, one of the biggest cities in the United States. It is inevitable to hear other languages. I heard Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, Russian, and probably some others that my ears could not recognize. On the way home to Philadelphia, I decided to sit inside a coffee shop and just observe people. Unfortunately, in this place there were not enough seats. Thankfully, I saw a girl who was sitting at a table alone and I asked if I could sit with her, and she said it was ok. As soon as I sat down she said, “Some people say that a coffee shop is a good place to meet somebody.” I looked at her a little bit surprised, I didn’t expect that comment since I had other intentions, but I replied saying “yes, you’re right” and our conversation began. While we were talking, she asked for my name. I said, “Oh, sorry I am Alejandro.” She said “Alejandro! I love that name. I wanted to call my son that name, but there aren’t any black men with that name. Could you imagine a black boy called Alejandro?” She laughed. I was really surprised, first because she assumed that I was not Black, and second because she feels that she is not allowed to name her son what she wants. She immediately mentioned that her husband is an African man. I asked her which country in Africa, because Africa a continent, not a country. She corrected herself and said that her husband is “American African” and she is a Brazilian woman. I did not want to correct her confusion with Africa, “American African”, or African American. I know that most Black folks in America want to be called African Americans. However, what really amazed me about this conversation was that she did not associate my name with Africa. Maybe it is because I didn’t look Black to her, but I wonder what does that really mean? What is Black? Can someone be African only through his skin color, name, or special characteristics? I have thought about this all week, and I have a possible answer.  I was born and raised in La Paz, Bolivia in the 1980s. I think it is important to contextualize this, because our names reflect the period of time that we are born. During 1950s-1990s, Afro-Bolivians were not named with African names, due to racism and discrimination against African Descendants and the need to be a part of the national identity. During this period of time, most Black Bolivians did not see themselves associated with Africa. My mom wanted to call me Alejandro, because she loved that name and she did not see herself as an African Descendent Bolivian woman, even though she was, so she did not think to give me a name that will reflect my cultural heritage. I am also named Pedro, which is my father’s name, who is an indigenous man. Maybe I should have been given an indigenous name instead of Pedro? My sisters also have names that did not reflect their African identity, but it doesn’t mean that we are not coming from a black woman. In fact, I am proud of being mixed like many other Afro-Bolivians. I know some other Black folks in Bolivia whose names are Modesto, Juan, Benito, Tomas, Alejandro, Pablo, Emilio, Jorge, Ramiro, Alfonso, Fernando, Ariel, Eduardo, Mario, Mirian, Rosa, Maria, Teresa, Carla, Josefina, Julia, Marfa, Paola, Fabiola, Carolina, Ximena, Esther, Ruth, Jenny, etc. All of these are not African’s names, right? But it doesn’t mean that there aren’t Black people. Why does a name need to say more about a person? I have a friend from Sierra Leone, West Africa whose name is Ibrahim. Does his name mean that he is, or is not an African man? I don’t think it does. He is African and he doesn’t need to be approved by somebody to be an African. So in this case, I feel in the same way as my friend. I feel that I am an African Descendant/ Indigenous (Aymara)/ Bolivian. Those hybrid identities make me feel different and special. Even though today some Afro-Bolivian babies are named Ranco, Sandy, Ivana, Avril, Matias, Betel, Kenia, Maikel, Geraldo, Juliana, etc. I still feel proud of being Negro and Indigenous. This is what most of us are- a mix of cultures, a mix of identities, and generations with hybrid identities, which also should be included in our celebration of our cultural heritages.

Finally, the story is difficult and hard to describe for Africans themselves. Africa suffered one of the worst genocides in the human history. The colonizer got into the jungle to impose a culture and take them as slaves. This is the story that will live for generations so as to not repeat it anymore! The world has to know that Africa was invaded by white "modern" Europeans who did not think of their neighbor, much less in cooperation. They destroyed a past existence called culture, but today I'm here like many young men and women of the Afro-Diaspora willing to raise our voices and tell the world that we are proud to not only be not part of a culture and history that was unjustly inflicted, but also musically influential. The world knows a lot and in terms of music, dance, and food, but the world should not forget that all of them come from a place called Africa!