Written by Gbemi Trabaye
My story is one that several people could probably relate to, but yet – there are always intricate, unique and subtle details that stand out each time. Whenever asked the question, “Where are you from?” – something signals in my mind – that ever persistent question, “Where am I truly from?”
Both of my parents are Nigerian, of Igbo descent – I was born in Lesotho, resided there till I was nine, and relocated to South Africa afterwards. Since then, I have never gone back to Lesotho, nor have I truly kept contact with anyone from those formative years.
Nigeria, on the other hand, is “home” from a cultural sense, but it’s actually a holiday destination. I have never, at any given moment, been in Nigeria for more than a month. However, despite all this – in my mind – in my spirit – I can only truly identify with Nigerian culture.
Reading this – one may be inclined to immediately believe that I probably struggled with an identity crisis at spoke stage, but oddly enough, I don’t – and this article, like all others in this series – is my attempt to discover, explore and unpack who I truly am, or rather – think I am.
In-order to really give further understanding, I must historically contextualise my parents. Both of them were born during politically volatile times in Nigeria, not to say much has actually changed since then, but it’s safe to say that we’re a far stretch from the mid 1900s. My father, born in 1956 to a Civil Servant and Trader, was forced to grow up a lot earlier than he should have. He often recounted stories of strife, hunger and struggle that the entire family endured, especially as the eldest son of nine. As I revisit those moments, one could almost hear the legacy of pain that he has carried for years – the unhealed trauma – the broken heart.
My mother, born 1962 to two long-serving educators, had a different experience. The fifth child of seven, she grew up in what some may consider as a middle class Nigerian household. There was a car in the driveway, a solid roof over their heads, and no day of hunger – things were relatively good. They would both pursue University degrees, excel exceptionally in their respective fields, and meet, by chance in 1990, another story, intriguing and complex, that belongs to a different series.
This background forms the contextual basis for understanding the type of household I come from – the expectations, cultural pride and value system that was instilled in all of my three siblings. Although far from perfect, my upbringing was embedded in discipline, honesty and
a strong cultural identity. As they would often say, “Outside – you’re in this country, but inside this home – you’re in Nigeria”.
Growing up, we were frequently reminded of who we were – and where we came from; there was very clear and strong messaging: Identity had nothing to do with birthplace and geolocation, it was channeled within. It was a decision – an inner compass – shaped by inherited values and principles.
This is not to say that my experiences came without challenges. Lesotho and South are very unique nations, equally very rooted in local cultural heritage. Oscillating between both worlds required an acute understanding of situations – an ability to “read the room” – and to quickly adapt to it. My biggest aid was schooling. The Maseru Preparatory School was a melting pot of cultures – we were all children of diplomats, corporate leaders, politicians – King Moshoeshoe’s daughter, Senate, was actually in the grade below mine. My immediate friend group consisted of Angolans, Zimbabweans, Basotho – so we all had a shared unique experience, “Third Cultured Kids” – belonging everywhere but nowhere at the same time.
This exposure to the fluid nature of identity and culture started shaping my early views around culture. From the onset, it was never about geography, birthplace or language – it was spiritual, internal – intrinsic. It wasn’t the physical things that we often lean towards – food, attire, rituals, but instead – it was a decision, a view on the world, constructed through our own lenses.
That said, I wrestled with this a lot socially, especially when I relocated to the Eastern Cape in South Africa. In that part of the world – culture is fixed and immovable. It is to be protected and respected, never contested. All of my fellow TCKs were back in Lesotho and I struggled to adapt. Traditions are deeply cherished and any disagreement was viewed as an abomination, people would get really riled up. I love my Xhosa friends, but I was amazed by how a disagreement, no matter how casual, could escalate into full blown arguments – with initiation being the most sensitive.
I wrestled with it, but I also partly understood it. The Xhosas endured a lot in South Africa – from extreme land dispossession to centuries of colonial oppression, and this is excluding the brutal years of Apartheid governance. Through centuries of such disruption – culture transcended the realms of pure customary practice – it became an anchor for survival, a form of resistance. Overtime, any “foreigner” that sought to disagree was viewed as an attacker, so I was often in the red zone.
I was the different person – I had no “culture” – I spoke English predominantly, and I had never slaughtered a cow, so one can imagine what I was up against. Moreover, I had a very Igbo name that contradicted with very “white accent” – the odds were all against.
Notwithstanding, for some reason – these differences only further affirmed by predilections. Culture isn’t fixed, it’s fluid – it’s malleable, and adjustable. It evolves – like the world. To quote Chimamanda Adichie – “Culture does not make people. People make culture”.
