Moving On, Moving Up, and Moving To, Greater Things: Why I’m Happy I Had Such a Bad Year  


2015 just flew by, at least, for me, anyway and thank goodness, it’s finally behind me now! It was a year filled more losses than triumphs and more angst than joy. But I’ve always prided myself on being a bit of realist so I’m taking those negative outcomes as necessary life lessons to get me to where I need to be in the future. Sweet twenty-16 has arrived and I am excited about the countless possibilities for greatness and opportunities for growth that this New Year signifies.


I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions per se but I do like to set new goals for myself each year and I always make a conscious decision to learn from the mistakes I made during the previous year. Christmas and New Year can be a depressing time of year because you’re kind of forced to reflect upon everything that happened (or didn’t happen) during the year as a new one begins. However, this isn’t always necessarily a bad thing. I feel, it’s the ideal time to decide exactly what you’d like to do differently and take stock of all your non-material wealth. Granted, you can decide to better yourself at any time during the year but the beauty about starting a new year is that, you can start anew and with the wisdom one gains from hindsight, you can go into it with a completely new strategy.


I mentioned that 2015 wasn’t the best year for me but really, the last three years in general haven’t been the easiest in terms of my personal life and career. But I had to go through some of these hardships in order for me to get to a better place. In the final year of my LLB studies, I suddenly found myself feeling lost and confused. All the things I thought I believed and understood no longer made much sense. I had gone from being somewhat self-assured and driven to anxious, demotivated and constantly worrying about my future. Even on my graduation day, which should have been one of the happiest days of my life, I felt no sense of accomplishment. I’d worked so hard for seemingly, nothing really. Considering the fact law was something I had always wanted to do and enjoyed immensely, how could I suddenly be having doubts?


Following my graduation, I wanted to take a little time off to unwind and explore my other interests beyond law while I made plans to pursue postgraduate studies in the subject. At that time, certain events had transpired which caused past traumas and painful childhood memories to resurface so I was desperate for a fresh start. Unfortunately, the plans I made fell apart and everything I did to get my life back on track yielded only negative results despite how much time and energy I’d put into it. It seemed as if I just wasn’t good enough. I didn’t cope with it too well either and I’m no longer ashamed to admit, that my emotional and physical well-being were suffering too. Anyone who suffers from anxiety issues would understand just how debilitating it can be.


I’d never been so directionless in my entire life but, eventually, I reached a point where I’d had enough. I decided to confront my emotional issues head-on. Even though it’s been very tough, I think the worst is over. The great thing about hitting rock bottom is that the only way is up. Instead of fixating on how much of a mess I thought my life was, I started focusing my energy on the projects I had abandoned as trivial or out of my reach because I felt I wasn’t talented enough to pursue them. This blog is one of those projects.


It felt incredible to start The Diaspora Baby in July last year. Not only have I rekindled my passion for research and writing, but I have learnt a great deal in the short space of time that I’ve been blogging. By undertaking the blogging enterprise, I’ve read many compelling stories and inspirational blog posts, discovered some interesting concepts and most importantly, I’ve accomplished one of my main goals for starting this blog – learning more about who I am. I’m looking forward to improving my blog this year by further exploring the notion of being a third culture kid, featuring some guest bloggers, including more personal anecdotes and analysing more literature on the subject of identity.

In addition to The Diaspora Baby, I started a second blog on Instagram entitled: Urban Afro Gypsy. Unable to come up with a way to consolidate my vast array of interests into a single blog that made sense, I decided to create two, centring on two very specific interests of mine. Urban Afro Gypsy can be labelled a fashion blog, plain and simple, but (and this may sound unoriginal) it is a lot more than that. It encompasses many different aspects of the subject matter and is a platform for me to share not only the outfits I throw together or which celebrity’s closet I’d love to raid but also allows me to explore my deep interest in men’s fashion, African fashion, accessories, great memories associated with beautiful clothing and history, among other things.


Although my two blogs have different subject matters and purposes, they converge in one respect. I believe that fashion is a strong visual expression of one’s identity. The name of the fashion blog describes not only how I describe my sense of style, but reflects my hybrid cultural identity – my African roots, blended with modern urban fashion and the gypsy-esque lifestyle I have grown accustomed to over the years. I also often look to gypsy culture for clothing inspiration. I’ve already made a number of changes to Urban Afro Gypsy and have exciting plans to make it grow and build a brand from it. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself, every day is new learning experience which is the whole point of the exercise – to learn, grow and flex my creative muscles.


I’ll be 24 this year and although I’m not exactly where I’d envisioned I’d be a few years ago, I’ve still got my whole life ahead of me and knowing that I’m not the only 20-something struggling through it is a comforting thought lol. Overall, it hasn’t all been bad. I’ve met some phenomenal people, made a few friends, picked up a few new hobbies, matured as a person and improved some of my skills. I’m very grateful to my amazing friends and family who have supported and encouraged me even when I felt like a complete failure. I’m also very proud of myself for staying the course in spite of how many times I came really close to giving up.


To quote Kevin Nealon in one of my favourite movies, Happy Gilmore, moving forward,  “you gotta harness the good energy and block out the bad.” Here’s to being anxiety-free and totally awesome! To anyone who’s reading this, if 2015 was a tough year for you, I’m in your corner and wish you a kick-ass 2016 and beyond!


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:

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.

Here’s to a new chapter: my very first blog

I recently finished reading Americanah by acclaimed Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and it was one of the most inspiring books I have read in a long time. Adichie is a truly phenomenal human being with an exceptional talent for writing and has, I must confess, become my new obsession. But more on that later. I had been toying with the idea of starting my own blog for a while now and had a million and one topic ideas. I have such varying interests ranging from fashion to gaming so settling on one particular subject matter proved to be extremely difficult. Reading Americanah really helped to me give some perspective. This incredible piece of literature gave me the necessary impetus to finally get this project off the ground so here we are.

I decided to write about IDENTITY which is undoubtedly a huge part of being human and soemthing I’ve always been fascinated by. Not only does the need for love and belonging feature on Abraham Maslow’s famed hierarchy of needs but the need for self-actualization can be found at the apex of this hierarchy. I don’t just take his word for it though, I believe wholeheartedly in the significance of defining who you are as a person and the profound impact it has on your present and future. Having been born in Europe to African parents and having had the privilege of travelling to different countries has made me accutely aware of how different my life would have been had I grown up in the ‘motherland’. We’ve been back on the continent for a number of years now but we still live outside our country of origin. We do occasionally visit the extended family there but for me personally, I’ve never really felt like I belonged.

Now that I’m in my 20s I have embarked on this path of self-discovery and for the first time in my life I have finally come to accept myself for me as opposed to trying to be who I think I should be if that makes sense. I’ve adopted a take me or leave me attitude and I’m so much happier for it. I intend for this blog to be a space to share a few experiences and anecdotes on growing up in the African diaspora. Significantly, what I’m looking to get out of the blogging experience is a chance to make some connections and hear from other people with similar experiences. I would also love to know the thoughts of those who may not necessarily relate to or agree with everything I say.

This is the Diaspora Baby – developing a sense of identity when you grow up outside your country of origin.