Black Americans Living Abroad Volume 1 Issue 2 | Page 27

I could speak French, dance Ndombolo, Coupè Decale, and Soukous. I could make a mean macaroni and cheese, and a pretty tasty kokee. In the 90’s I listened to Yondo Sister and Koffi Olomide. This was my existence. My ex was Cameroonian and my introduction to Central and West Africa through him had now become an important part of my me. This part of me was just as an important part as the inner-city Blackness that shaped me.

It was no surprise that I attracted African men. Many of them thought I was the child of African immigrants because there was no way that an African American woman would know this much about West Africa in their eyes. I mean, I spoke FRENCH. For them, the only people in Detroit who spoke French were the visiting Quebecois and other African immigrants.

I could have predicted that while I was in Belgium, I’d randomly meet African men because the best friend who I visited there was an African man. I had always been ‘one of the boys’ and this year was no exception. The surprise was that this guy I met on this particular visit became a serious prospect who I eventually married.

I never knew it would be this difficult. This was not my first intercultural relationship, so I thought I was aware and had learned from my past mistakes. I was immature back then. My ex-husband wasn’t understanding. He thought his culture was superior to mine. I could go on and on. Ultimately, there was no confusion as to why my first marriage didn’t last and because that was 16 years ago, I know I would do everything right this time around.

It’s been six years. We’re still here, but not without our own hills and valleys. We thought it’d be easier. None of our premarital conversations nor counsel could have prepared us for what we faced and there seemed to be no one who really understood our plight. There were no intercultural, inter religious people that could help, so we remain lost at times.

Our Background

My husband is Sierra Leonean by birth, but Malian by ethnicity. His father was a Malian immigrant who found luck as a diamond trader. While working in Sierra Leone, he met and married his first Sierra Leonean wife who eventually died due to a long-term illness. His wife, before she died, chose his second wife who could help him raise his children and possibly bear more. That second wife was my husband’s mother. They have five children together and have been married for over 35 years.

I am a Detroiter, raised by a single mother. My father and mother were married for less than 2 years before they separated. My grandparents on my maternal side were divorced for as long as I remember. There were two long term marriages that I was exposed to in my life and that was my aunt (mom’s sister) who was married over 20 years before her husband died and my great grandparents who were married over 40 years.

Religion

I was raised in the Church of Christ. There are many versions of this church, but I distinguish ours by saying we don’t use musical instruments. I was taught that it is important to be equally yoked and, in my youth, it was stated regularly that if you aren’t Church of Christ, then you are not following the pathway to heaven. While I am still Christian, I definitely am more liberal in my beliefs than many of my other Church of Christ counterparts.

He is Muslim. He prays 5 times a day on most days and has never drank alcohol. He was raised in an interreligious country where Muslims and Christians coexist and intermarry although it is still frowned upon by various cultures within both religions. He was raised to only marry a woman who was a virgin.

The Beginning

He left Sierra Leone for Europe while he was in his 20s to pursue a post graduate degree. For many reasons he never completed his degree and he began to chase the European dream that seduces many Africans. He moved from country to country working in various fields to try to create a professional pathway and our meeting interrupted that.

Our dating life was brief, but wonderful. Because I lived in the UAE and he lived in Belgium, we did our best to make it work. And although I was obviously not a virgin when we met, we decided to adhere to the guidelines of both religions and wait. We discussed marriage early (possibly too early) and we involved both families as much as possible. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t having it. She was still scarred from my past relationship and she was not interested in me dating another African man, no matter what country, what culture, or religion. It didn’t matter.

I met one of his sisters before we married because she frequented Dubai on business. I was honored that she attended my wedding shower and an evening of poetry. We jelled, it worked. She was indeed my new family.

We married in a small, extremely modest, mosque in Belgium after several refusals to perform the ceremony because I was Christian. This was unlike my first marriage in that I didn’t hear a voice telling me not to do it. I was indeed elated, except, I never expressed the importance that I have a Christian wedding that included my friends and family; I still lament about that.

The Children

“Musa yelled at me”, Mahliq cried. While they are close now, the beginning was rocky. My son was an 11-year-old boy who did not appreciate a man living in his home. For most of his life, it was just the three of us. In Abu Dhabi there were many American brothers in the community who helped with him, but he never lived with a man who served in the capacity of a father. So, my son pushed the boundaries and my husband responded in the way that he understood. He was sometimes curt, at times was rude, but mostly he thought that my son should obey him just because he my husband.

He avoided my 16-year-old daughter completely. He later explained that I didn’t help when I said that I was closely watching his interactions with her. Unfortunately, too many women invite men into their homes and they are inappropriate. Even though he thought I was crazy for speaking this directly about it, I did nevertheless. Unexpectedly, this created a discomfort in him and an awkwardness in their interactions that took years to remedy.

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