Mid-year musings

It’s been an unacceptably long time since I’ve posted something on this blog…165 days to be exact. Honestly, I’ve had a serious mental block and have been feeling a little unmotivated. Between studying towards a master’s degree in human rights on the most intense academic programme I have ever been on and being on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster lately, I’ve found myself unable to write anything. I scrapped pretty much all the posts that I started working on as they just didn’t resonate enough with me to post them. But life would be rather dull if we didn’t have the opportunity to battle through and triumph over the bad times to experience the good. I’ve finally wrapped up the first semester of the programme so I thought I’d go back to doing some writing that isn’t for a grade.


To say that the past four months have been intense is quite the understatement. Never in my life have I experienced anything so academically challenging, highly demanding and mentally-exhausting. I knew doing a master’s degree, which is what I always wanted to do would be challenging, but I guess I took it for granted just how much. In spite of how hectic it’s been and my occasional slips back into bouts of anxiousness, I’ve managed to overcome it without any major hiccups. My classmates and I have been worked really hard and I’m certain we can conquer almost anything the workplace or further studies throws at us.


An unexpected consequence of getting back into the classroom as a student, is that I’ve once again become sharply conscious about my cultural and linguistic and identity. In a programme that places a lot of emphasis on comparative study of best practices and learning how to improve the human rights situation in one’s “home” country, not feeling like I have a home makes for exciting opportunity to learn from others but also, to a large extent, makes me feel somewhat isolated from and out-of-touch with my country of origin and the continent.


The numerous introductions our class has had to make during short courses, special events and to visiting lecturers have been exhausting for the entire class a bit of an anathema for me because I’m always confronted with one of my favourite questions: “where do you come from?” I say that with a heavy dose of sarcasm which you’ll understand if you read one of my previous blog posts on that same question. At first, I would give my usually go-to response: “I’m Zambian, but I live in South Africa” or “I’m ‘originally’ Zambian” but ten introductions in, I got over it and simply began introducing myself as Zambian, no qualifications whatsoever, and prayed to my creator that I wouldn’t be called upon to give any examples in class of the human rights situation in Zambia of which I have extremely elementary knowledge haha. But this is what I signed up for so I just shrug it off. When I think about it, it’s quite comical that questions as simple as, “where do you come from?” or “who is Zambian in this class?” can make my stomach churn and my palms sweaty. A bit of an exaggeration perhaps, but I really don’t like answering that question because honestly, I wish I didn’t matter to me so much. However, while this may be a little awkward for me, if anyone else senses my feelings of awkwardness, they haven’t communicated that fact to me which works just fine for me. Having to answer the question so many times, I’m pleased to say that I’ve become somewhat numb to it and it doesn’t affect me as much anymore. It’s an aspect of my existence that makes me unique so it’s something I try to embrace and am very thankful for.


Earlier this year, I made a decision to take each day as it comes, keep my anxiety levels down and focus on enjoying myself. I’ve interacted with some extraordinary people, visited some amazing spots around Pretoria, made some wonderful friends and I’ve been inspired by some beautiful souls. Now, I’m looking forward to embarking on the new adventure that awaits me at Makerere University in the second semester. I’ve never been to east Africa so I’m excited about the opportunities for growth and personal development that the remaining four months of the programme will bring. I also cannot wait to get on the Ugandan party scene which a reliable source tells me is quite vibrant. I’m also hoping to visit some of Uganda’s neighbouring countries, sample some interesting cuisine and find more inspiration for my creative endeavours. But overall, I welcome a change of scenery.


Although my life has completely revolved around my degree programme in the last few months and I’ve ended up temporarily neglecting some of my hobbies and interests to get through it, the mental energy to write has returned to me and I’m ready to get right back into it the artsy stuff. I have some posts in the works which will go up on this blog very soon including a few from a number of guest bloggers who will provide some great insights into the subject matter of my blog. I’m still very much a debutante in the blog writing enterprise and working to find my groove but I have high hopes for the near future.





5 things that parents of third culture kids should understand

source: tumblr.com

The world gets smaller everyday so the likelihood of hearing a variety of different accents in random parts of the world is quite high. This, of course, means that the number of so-called third culture kids (TCKs) has increased dramatically over the last half a century or so. I touched on this briefly in a previous post. According to Dr. Ruth Useem, who coined the term in the 1950s, third culture kids are children and adults (adult TCKs) who are/were raised in a different culture or cultures to their parent culture during the developmental stages of their lives. Consequently, they develop and adopt a third, hybrid culture which is effectively a combination of these constituent cultures.

Extensive research has been done into how such an upbringing impacts on a child psychologically, spiritually and even economically as they transition into adulthood. The pros of growing up a TCK generally outweigh the cons but, in terms of linguistic and cultural identity, the experience can be perplexing and challenging for TCKs and their parents. In some cases, it can be somewhat depressing. As an adult TCK myself, I can strongly identify with the tensions that sometimes arise between TCKs and their parents with regards to issues of identity.

For some parents, feelings of guilt or sadness are common because they lament moving their children all over the world and long for them to appreciate their home culture. On the other hand, there are some parents of TCKs who would prefer to forget their culture completely. Whatever the case may be, there are a few things parents should bear in mind when it comes to raising their TCKs and helping them forge a sense of identity.

  • Home for you cannot be home for us

Some people may still possess strong feelings of loyalty and devotion to their home country when they emigrate. That’s a wonderful thing but it isn’t something that their TCKs can relate to. TCKs spend most of their lives living outside the countries where their parents were raised and may only ever visit briefly for the occasional weddings, funerals, Christmases and holidays. In some cases, family trips back ‘home’ may grow tiresome and feel like a chore due to vast differences in culture and perspective. Despite TCKs being treated like locals by friends and family in their countries of origin many still feel like outsiders. Our parent culture is foreign to us and it’s therefore difficult for us to accept it outright as our own. So as much as our parents would like us to be – or believe us to be – patriots of their home country, the reality is, we’re not. Parents shouldn’t feel hurt or offended if their children do not consider their passport country to be home. One can hardly return to a place that was never really home to begin with.

  • It’s important to know our heritage – even if it doesn’t mean much to you anymore

This is for the parents who would prefer to forget their home country. Knowing where one comes from is essential in shaping one’s identity going forward. Although negative experiences of their home country may be something some immigrant parents wish to share with their trans-culture kids, they should share the positives as well. It’s essential to instil a sense of pride in our heritage without forcibly imposing it on us. It’s quite disheartening to sometimes feel like you don’t really belong anywhere. In contrast to friends who have grown up surrounded by extended family and childhood friends, TCKs do not always have the same experience of intimately knowing grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles or retaining long-term friendships. Learning more about our parents’ origins is a good way for TCKs to better understand our parents and their beliefs and feel more attached to the family.

Since the Apple iOS9 software update, which includes the flags of all the countries of the world in its emoji keyboard, I have seen several social media account bios and Whatsapp display names proudly sporting the flags of the users’ countries of origin. In the case of my fellow TCKs, two or three flags have been put on display at a time. This just goes to show that many of us are quite proud to make known that we are cultural chameleons and take pride in the constituents of our cultural identity.

  • Don’t feel bad about raising us in another country. We often admire you for it and are grateful to you in the long run

TCKs spend a significant amount of time away from extended family and are constantly leaving friends behind. We feel closest to our immediate family with whom we share many momentous life experiences in different locations. It’s something many of us are grateful for because it has made us more open-minded and willing to embrace many people of different backgrounds. The example our parents have set for us by stepping out of their comfort zones and travelling abroad for work or study has instilled in us a thirst to know more about, and explore, the world.

We’ve had to give up friends, family, schools and childhood homes as we’ve followed you across the globe but it’s been the most amazing learning experience. As much as being the new kid at school sucks, you’ve helped us get through it all.

  • We’re not in a hurry to assimilate to our ancestral culture

We’ve grown accustomed to either a nomadic lifestyle or an entirely different culture to your own. TCKs may sometimes regard their parents’ views, cultural practices and traditions as antiquated, irrational or unnecessary so we may find it difficult to accept their culture. We may also feel no desire to settle in our country of origin. This is the case for a number of reasons.

First, we’re not often given a proper opportunity to learn much about our parent culture in the time when we’re trying to assimilate to a new one. Learning more about the parent culture takes a back seat to the need to fit in and feel like a part of the society we actually live in.

Second, learning a language also comes with its own challenges and issues. In an article I read last year, the author documented his experiences of trying to teach Hebrew (his mother’s language) to his young daughter. Through this exercise, he came to realise his daughter showed very little interest in learning the language because he only ever spoke to her in Hebrew when he was giving her commands or scolding her. She thus came to associate the language with discipline and negative emotions. A number of TCKs have had the experience of our parents reprimanding us while speaking their mother tongue. That, amongst other things, can cause us to drift further away from our parent culture. Plus, when you’re learning a language that doesn’t have a bearing on making new friends or your future career plans, it doesn’t seem worthwhile.

Last, many parents expect their children to readily accept their cultural practices without question simply because that’s what their people do. It is essential that parents endeavour to explain these practices and traditions as much as possible. With a few competing cultures to deal with, a TCK’s third culture takes precedence and if a parent of a TCK has any hope of their child accepting theirs, they need to properly explain why things are the way they are. A TCK is very unlikely to want to take these on and preserve their ancestral culture without understanding the purpose of these practices.

  • Our peers may not always understand our unique circumstances. We don’t need that from our parents as well.

For a lot of trans-culture kids, identity cannot necessarily be linked to one specific geographical location. TCKs may feel we don’t belong to our parent culture because we seem to be on a completely different wavelength. But, at the same time, we also feel misunderstood by our peers. I’ve always been most comfortable around my fellow TCKs with whom I share the same quirky traits and experiences.  Parents should be prepared for their TCKs to, at times, be very different to how they might have hoped. They should also try as much as possible to accept their children for who they are in spite of the fact that they may not speak their mother tongue or feel compelled to observe the traditions of their ancestral culture. That’s not to say that parents should totally give up on helping their children familiarise themselves with the many great aspects of their culture. On the contrary, this is encouraged. However, we also need to feel heard. It can’t be easy for a parent to have something they care about so deeply being lost on their children but parents should be wary of forcing this upon their TCKs.

I’m not a parent and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to raise a child but being an adult third culture kid, I have an acute understanding of the struggles a lot of TCKs go through in forging an identity. While this is difficult for a child to have deal with, it can be just as challenging for their parent who has also given up friends, family and some aspects of their own cultural identity while adapting to life outside their native country. It is thus essential for parents and their TCKs to find common ground. TCKs need parental guidance and support in order to figure out exactly where they belong in today’s world, especially when it seems that no one understands them.

Why the question: “Where do you come from?” makes me uncomfortable

As I’ve gotten older, some family members have been prompting me to “pick a side”. As in, decide whether or not to denounce my Zambian nationality to take up citizenship elsewhere. Perhaps it’s time I gave serious thought to where it is in the world I would like to settle down. Previously, I figured I’d get a job or do a master’s degree and see where life takes me from there. The thing is; I don’t feel completely attached to any one place and I don’t believe I ever will be. Being born in one country to parents from another and having resided in various countries has caused me to experience a bit of an identity crisis like many other so-called “third culture kids” (read more: TCK World) I’ve often struggled with figuring out where it is that I feel I belong. This issue relates to my sense of cultural identity. 
Recently, I’ve been reading up on what it means to other people, in similar circumstances to mine, to grow up without any concrete sense of identity and came across the notion of being a third culture kid (TCK). This essentially entails having three cultures – your ancestral culture (that of your country of origin), your adopted culture from the country you are raised in and a new hybrid culture which is the amalgamation of the former two cultures. I came across a variety of compelling stories. Some people felt they closely identified with one particular culture in adulthood or always felt connected to the country they grew up in. On the other hand, I read a few cases of people who still felt that they didn’t belong but developed a cultural identity encompassing the best aspects of each culture they are connected to. I can relate to the anxieties that many TCKs face regarding issues of identity as well as the many wonderful things that come with this complex existence.
The common thread I discovered with the stories I read, was restlessness on the part of TCKs in that they have the inherent desire to travel and explore the world as well as a fear of being stuck in one place. Furthermore, many are and feel they would be able to acclimatize easily to a new environment. This seems to be why many of us feel like we don’t belong anywhere but generally feel comfortable anywhere we go.
I was born in London, United Kingdom but hold a Zambian passport and am a South African permanent resident. Being asked where I come from is not always something I enjoy. If I simply say I’m Zambian what sometimes follows is either a greeting in a Zambian language or questions like: “how do you say…?” or “where about in Zambia exactly?” so I often have to qualify the statement with: “…but I was born in the UK and live in SA.” I do this to account for my lack of fluency in a Zambian language and lack of knowledge about certain aspects of life in Zambia. Saying I’m from the UK isn’t technically correct despite being born there and I don’t feel like a South African at all. Thus, simply saying I’m Zambian is the most fitting option although it also doesn’t always feel right to me.
I have met several people who, once they become aware of the fact that I was born in Europe, believe I should ditch my Zambian nationality for UK citizenship. It never really occurred to me to be a priority to change my citizenship but it may prove useful as far as my future plans go. I missed an opportunity to visit Britain a few years ago and would relish a chance to see the place where my life began. However, changing my nationality isn’t that simple and I want a very compelling reason to take such a drastic step. Long story short, under UK immigration law I could not have acquired British citizenship automatically at the time my birth. I may however have the option of staying on in the UK to acquire permanent residence status should I enter the country legally. Zambia also doesn’t allow for dual citizenship so it’s pretty much all or nothing. I’m currently weighing up my options so we’ll see what happens.
I can’t say I’ve ever had a particularly strong desire to live in England simply because I have never experienced life there. But there are a lot of things I love about the place culturally-speaking and acquiring British citizen or permanent residency would to some extent validate my anglophilia. I’m obsessed with British television particularly comedy and game shows, I’m fascinated by British history and I’m a massive fan of Arsenal FC (the more superior of the London clubs and the natural choice for someone born in London ;)). I’ve also received a few compliments over my impressions of various British accents lol. This hardly makes me British though.
I am a Zambian national regardless of the fact that I am not fluent in either of my parents’ languages and spent most of my life outside the country. I’ve been there many times for the usual weddings, Christmases and general family visits. My brother and I also lived and went to school there for a several months in 2002. I’ve quite enjoyed trips to the “motherland” and love a lot of things about the place. As much as I am often treated like a resident I don’t always feel like one and I’m not sure if I could ever get there. There are a fair number of Zambian cultural practices my immediate family observe but I don’t see myself wanting to practice some of them in the future. As I got older, I hoped I would feel closer to this part of my heritage but I find myself drifting away. I am very proud of where I come from and would love to get closer to my extended family but have never really felt like I belonged there. I haven’t seriously considered denouncing my Zambian nationality until a few of my relatives kept jokingly pressing me for a decision. The idea of it seems so final to me but my doubts could be a sign that I really need to apply my mind to it further.
The family and I moved to South Africa just over a decade ago and to a large extent it feels like home. Before that, we were in Australia and Swaziland for about six and two years respectively. Having lived in SA for so long many people assume that I would feel like I’m a proper South African by now but the truth is, I don’t. I recall one time in 2007 when my classmates where excitedly discussing the events of the previous night when South Africa lifted the William Webb Ellis trophy for the Rugby World Cup. It was their first win since 1995. Perhaps they noticed that I hadn’t contributed much to their fervent conversation on the issue because they asked me about my thoughts on the win. Besides the fact that I have zero interest in rugby, I just didn’t see the big deal. I simply responded that I had not watched the game and, to my slight amusement, they reacted as if I had said something blasphemous. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for them and the country but personally I just couldn’t empathise. To me, it didn’t mean that much.
It’s not that I hate living here in South Africa. Quite the contrary, it’s a great place to be and I’ve very much grown accustomed to the South African way of life. It’s a beautiful country, I’ve made some incredible friends who I consider family and I admire the strong traditions and cultures of this diverse nation. The only language I speak is Afrikaans which I am proficient in because I learnt it in high school. Otherwise, I have very elementary knowledge of Zulu and Xhosa. Nevertheless, I don’t feel like I’ve become fully assimilated compared to some of my foreign-born friends living here in spite of the fact that I spent most of my formative years here. I certainly wouldn’t mind settling down here in the long term and it would be quite convenient for the purpose of visiting the extended family. I just don’t feel like I could adopt the South African culture as my own.

I’ve only recently started to seriously reflect upon the confusion I’ve had growing up regarding my cultural identity. It isn’t necessarily depressing but the intense love and devotion some people have for one place – be it a school, town or country – is something I’ve always wanted to experience yet never have. It’s not a huge loss though because I am very grateful for my upbringing and the brilliant cultural experiences I have had as a result. This crisis of identity or rather, mix-up of identity made me realise that I may never find a place in the world that I feel is home for me but that’s ok. It simply means that home is where I choose to make it. My restlessness may never cease but, from the three countries I am connected to, I have developed a cultural identity that is unique and precious to me. Changing my nationality doesn’t have any bearing on that fact. It’s one of the things that make me interesting and I embrace it wholeheartedly. It’s also great knowing I’m not the only third culture kid out there who goes through this. I see myself as a citizen of the world – feeling at home everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I don’t need to pick a side because I think I occupy a pretty great space in the middle.


I may not be able to speak the language but I’m proud of where I come from

Language is an integral part of any culture and is often seen as one of the strongest identifying factors for any cultural group. Preserving one’s language and culture is, to a degree crucial for preserving the identity of a people.  As the world becomes smaller and more people grow up outside of their country of birth, many children of first-generation immigrants are not being taught their mother tongue. Some contend that is causing the systematic dilution of many of the world’s cultures.

The issue of language as a part of identity is something that a few Hollywood stars have had to contend with. A few years ago, I read an article on the Latino community in the United States of America questioning Jessica Alba’s claim to her Latina heritage because she could not speak Spanish.  The third-generation Mexican-American defiantly responded to the criticism of her Spanish-speaking skills with a barrage of provocative statements. She has been quite outspoken about the fact that she believes it should not be held against her. At the same time, she has always expressed a deep sense of pride in her family history but was never taught to speak Spanish growing up.

Similarly, Naya Rivera, Rosario Dawson and Selena Gomez are also among the many Hollywoood personalities of Latino descent who are not fluent in Spanish.  Some of them observe many of the practices undertaken in their countries of origin and have articulated a desire to speak the language fluently. Like Alba, they feel that whether or not they speak Spanish should not define them as Latinos. The rest of Hollywood and the USA generally sees these celebrities as Latino despite the fact that some Spanish-speakers reject them because they may not consider them to be true representatives of the Hispanic community in the USA. A few of these stars have also voiced a reluctance to speak Spanish in public for fear of ridicule and judgment.

I can to a large extent empathise with the criticism Latinos in Hollywood endure. I’m a second-generation immigrant who never picked up her mother tongue fluently. At times I’ve faced condemnation for claiming that I am a Zambian when asked the question: “where do you come from?” Some people have said I’m not a “proper” African because I can’t speak any indigenous Zambian languages fluently. Personally, I don’t feel that I have to speak any Zambian language to be considered a true Zambian. Due to circumstances beyond my control, it was never to be. I’ve since established that immigrant parents don’t pass on their language to their offspring for a variety of reasons including to help their children fit in to their new environment or to talk about them without them knowing LOL. Whatever the reason, it’s not fair to slate someone for not being able to speak his or her native language.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I was born in the United Kingdom to Zambian parents. Although I can’t speak either of my parents’ languages fluently I have a good ear for my mother’s language – Bemba. Trying to speak it has always been a challenge for me so I often respond in English when spoken to in Bemba. My parents have made a number of attempts to teach my brother and I their languages, mum more so than dad. However, they regret not making a more concerted effort to teach us when we were much younger which they regret and I am also slightly saddened by. This is probably related to the fact that I sometimes feel like I don’t truly belong. Generally-speaking, it would be great to be able to speak to my relatives in vernacular just to feel a little closer to them although many of them do speak English anyway.

At present, I’m a little more reluctant to become fluent in Bemba. Whenever I have attempted to speak the language I’ve been met with mockery from some of my friends and relatives. This can be off-putting at times so I understand the hesitancy to publically speak Spanish on the part of celebrities like Selena Gomez. It may not be too late to pick up either Bemba or my father’s language, Lenje, fluently but I see little reason in doing so. As far as my future life plans go, I don’t see myself settling permanently in my country of origin so I don’t believe it’s completely necessary for me to learn it as harsh as that may sound. But this does not mean that I’m not proud of my Zambian heritage. Frankly, I do not believe that learning a Zambian language will make me any more Zambian than speaking English as a first language makes me feel any more British.

Language is something that can be used to shame, exclude and belittle people. Not speaking a language can, but, should not be a barrier to fitting in within your cultural group. It should not give people license to deliberately exclude another person or label them a phoney. Cultural identity encompasses many different aspects. As important as language may be it is not the only defining factor when it comes to culture and within one culture there can exist many variants. In the interests of keeping many of world’s indigenous languages alive perhaps I, and others like me, ought to make more effort to learn our native languages in spite of the scorn we may face. At the same time, if my own parents did not see the merit in preserving their language or did not give it much thought I feel that I should not be expected to want to pick it up fluently. In an age where we are becoming more blended and cross-cultural relationships are increasingly prevalent, the ability to speak the language of your native country shouldn’t play a huge role in determining your identity.


Cultural differences: the theme of identity as explored in the poem Jardin de France

Calme jardin

Grave jardin

Jardin aux yeux baissés au soir

Pour la nuit

Peines et rumeurs

Toutes les angoisses, bruissantes de la Ville

Arrivent jusqu’à moi, glissant sur les toits lisses

Arrivent à la fenêtre

Penchée tamisées par feuilles menues et tendres et pensives


Mains blanches

Gestes delicats

Gestes apaisants


Mais l’appel du tam-tam


                   par monts




Qui l’apaisera, mon cœur

A l’appel du tam-tam




                                                                                                Léopold Sédar Senghor




Calm garden

Serious garden

Garden with eyes lowered to the evening

For the night

Pain and murmurs

All the anguish, murmuring in the Town

Almost coming to me, sliding on smooth roofs

They arrive at the window

Leaning over, filtered through minute and tender and thoughtful leaves

White hands

Delicate gestures

Appeasing gestures

But the call of the tam-tam


over mountains



Who will appease my heart,

Who has the call of the tam-tam



I’ve never really been into poetry and it’s extremely rare that I will find a poem interesting, let alone inspiring. However, when I read the poem Jardin de France in Grade 12 French class, it completely changed my take on poetry. It had a very profound effect on me and has since become one of my favourite pieces of writing.

Written by prolific Senegalese writer, poet and politician, the late Léopold Sédar Senghor (1906-2001), Jardin de France is a simple yet engaging poem about identity. To avoid this sounding like a lecture, I won’t go into an in-depth analysis of the poem but rather just discuss why it spoke to me so much.

First, a little bit of background on the man behind Jardin de France. Senegal’s first President lived a long and fascinating life.  Born and raised in Joal near Dakar, Senegal, Senghor was a bright and curious scholar who excelled at the study of language and literature. He won a scholarship to study in Paris, France where he completed his tertiary education in French grammar and literature. It was in Paris where he met his close friend and fellow student, Aimé Césaire. Together they developed and asserted the notion of “négritude” (the idea that black culture needs no validation from any other cultural group. It exists and is valid in its own right). This is essentially what Jardin de France and many of his other literary works are about.  Learn more about Senghor’s remarkable life story and political career at: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/leopold-sedar-senghor.

As I mentioned, Jardin de France is about identity and more specifically about the poet’s newly-acquired double identity. The garden imagery in the first half of the poem gives the reader a sense of the tranquility – albeit marred by anguish and struggle at times – of the poet’s life in France. This is in direct contrast with the second half of the poem which has a decidedly different tone. The metaphor of the “tam-tam” drum introduced in verse 13 represents the poet’s country of origin and is used to demonstrate the restlessness of his heart as well as his ‘Africanness’ bubbling beneath the surface. The last two stanzas are also deliberately structured in such a way as to illustrate the space and freedom of Africa while changing the rhythm of the poem to that of a drum beat. Senghor had been instructed in the ways of the European and had, to some degree, become assimilated into French society, but his heart would always beat African and he longed for the freedom and vibrancy of his continent. The poem is essentially a juxtaposition of the calm image the poet projects to the world as that of a refined gentleman against the tumult he feels within at being away from the motherland.

Jardin de France explores the theme of identity in a simple yet beautifully poignant manner. The poet, though calm on the surface, felt confined and constricted perhaps because he felt he could not truly be himself amongst the Europeans.  His two personalities were at odds with each other which caused him to experience this identity crisis of sorts. This really resonated with me because there are times when I often feel as if I don’t really fit within any cultural grouping. I was born in the United Kingdom to Zambian parents but I didn’t grow up in either place. I am proud of my heritage as it will always be a big part of who I am and I feel a deep spiritual connection to both my country of origin and country of birth. Nevertheless, I also feel it is somewhat unfortunate that I cannot say I have experienced any kind of longing for a place I could call home. I believe this why I was so taken by this poem which is a powerful expression of patriotism and nostalgia.

There is no doubt that having a strong sense of identity means a lot to us as human beings and plays a significant role in shaping many of our desires and goals for the future. Moreover, feeling as if we have lost our sense of self can have some devastating effects on the psyche as this poem so amazingly illustrates. Reading up on Senghor’s background and the notion of négritude also made me appreciate it that much more. I found it to be an insightful  literary work with a simple yet profound message about identity.