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Author Boyah J. Farah discusses his book ‘America Made Me a Black Man’ : NPR


When Boyah J. Farah came to the United States as a teenager, he expected the country to be paradise. And it was a time—as he rode his bike through the quiet streets of his Boston suburbs, gliding past neighbors smiling with their manicured lawns. “I really think God has favored America,” he said.

Cover of America Made Me A Black Man

But trying so hard to hold onto that image, the racist reality of Americans eventually began to show cracks in Farah’s fantasy. Slowly but surely, he began to understand that as a black American, his life wouldn’t turn out like the Hollywood movies he grew up with. He will be forced into a different kind of role.

In his new memoir, America made me black, Farah tells the story of what black America means to him, from his childhood in Somalia through his adolescence and early adulthood in the Northeast, to his decision to adulthood. intends to return to Somalia after decades of separation.

The following conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

You grew up in Somalia, in the Nugaal Valley. And you described that time as the happiest time of your life. So tell me a little bit about your childhood.

That particular period of time in that valley is, like, freedom. You know, I’m a nomad. Culturally, nomads put freedom above everything else. Life is not life unless you have freedom. And I feel like my childhood in the valley with ayeyo, my grandmother, basically, you know, running in the rain. Drink goat milk from goats. It’s just full of freedom and full of joy. After that, my life was nothing but turmoil and despair. I’ve been on the run ever since. At least, that’s what I feel like.

Talk about what happened. What brought you from Somalia to America in 1989?

My father – God bless the dead – is dead. And then, the war came like a passing wind. It gathers like a spiral. It basically turned my childhood into dust. My mother and my brothers and I were living in Mogadishu at the time. And civil war is the worst thing that can happen to mankind, as cousins ​​fight cousins. Basically, Somali families that have been living together, living together for centuries, are now fighting each other. We will see one tragedy after another – tragedies that compete with each other. And so we had to get out of that place to wherever it was safe. So we went to Kenya, to a refugee camp in Mombasa, and then we went to America.

Author Boyah Farah

When you grew up, what did you know about America? What is your perception about it?

Coming to America is to reach for the stars, and being an American is like running naked in the rain. Do you understand what I mean? It is just beautiful. In the refugee camp, I remember once I had malaria and it was horrible. Everyone is dying. In my family two people died, seven days apart. And I’m next because I have malaria. And I remember asking God, ‘Please, God, don’t let me die until I get to America. ‘ You know, if you’re going to kill me, kill me in America. That’s what I admire about America.

Where does your image of America come from?

Film. Movies, TV, everything. America considers itself worldwide as paradise. So all the refugee children, they want to go to that paradise. And I am one of them. I cannot wait.

In your book, you talked about the fact that there is an image of America in the movies, but then there is an image of America. Black America and those things are often quite different. What was your perception of black Americans before you arrived?

Well, black Americans are predicted in an unfavorable way. And so when you come to America, you want to avoid anyone Black. Because that’s what you already “know” about them: thugs, sloths, drug dealers. Those are the images that are spread to us. So coming here, I remember taking the bus from Bedford to Alewife and seeing some black people in the back. And I was like, I don’t want to be around them – even though I have nothing to fear, I have nothing anyway, like a poor kid from Africa. But at the same time, my mind was filled with images of lies.

Is there a particular moment where you felt like the first time your American fantasy was broken?

Right. In high school, I met Miss Parker [who worked at the school library]. And she told me that in America, I’m a African American. “You’re not African anymore. You better get used to that.” And if you haven’t seen it yet, you will now. You know, it’s like my first warning.

And I remember her giving me African-American material, including the book by Malcolm X. And so I used to cycle every day to the library, reading and trying to learn America from the books. .

And [around that time] I remember cycling to a side location to get a pizza. My favorite food to eat is pizza. And I miss the guy [who worked there] just say, frankly, “[If you try anything,] I’ll call the police on you. “I still buy pizza. But at the same time, even though I’m still naive and trying to give America a chance, at that particular moment, I knew he could easily call the police. And so I remember and I didn’t even eat the pizza inside the store. I ate it outside next to my bike. So there’s a lot of those little things that are telling me, something. Another is coming on the way.

It seems that throughout the book you regularly meet people – Black people, like Miss Parker – who are trying to help you understand different things about what it means to be black in America. And at different stages of your life, you have very different perceptions of that. So today, how will you define blackness?

Black people were my first teachers of America – true teachers of America. And how do I define it? That’s how I define myself. Now I am American. You know, I know exactly what awaits an African child, an African American child, a black child in the Americas. I know exactly what awaits them. Because I have seen it. And so I feel pain. I feel the struggle. I am part of the struggle.

You write about some of the things that surprise you as someone experiencing it for the first time — encounters with the police, discrimination in the workplace, subordinate medical care. It seems like there were times when you were in more pain than it was for a certain Negro from being so shocked. Others have accepted that certain things will happen to them because of being black you don’t know. Do you still feel there are things that you are not ready to accept?

Oh, yes. I am my father’s son. I brought his culture and nomadic way of life. I am a nomadic American. You know that means freedom is number one – for me freedom until death is very important to me. So certain things I am against and against and against. But the US does not allow that. It’s hard to resist and remain an American with a job.

In this culture, there is a hierarchy and it is systematic. It’s not about the individual. It is an oppressive culture driven by the system. This big racist machine is systematic. So I still try to respect and honor my deceased father’s culture of being free, but it’s very difficult. You have to surrender so as not to be shot by the police. When a cop stopped me, I couldn’t ask him questions or challenge him. He could easily take my life. So I still have to surrender. But inside of me, I wanted to honor that freedom. And I want us all to honor our freedom as human beings, equal to everyone else.

You talked a lot about the struggles. What do you like most about being black?

Culture. I think in the book I call those people with rhythm, style, beauty. I mean, what would America be like without Black culture? I used to think Muhammad Ali was Somali. I never thought he was American. He was that famous. And I also think Michael Jackson is Somali, you know? Stevie wondered! I mean, the American soft power that radiates around the world is Black culture. And again, my wish is for America to recognize that and reciprocate that love. Black people love this country. We want America to return that love.

You said earlier that you are a nomadic American. Is there an area of ​​the United States where you feel at home?

American highways. Driving on the highways of America, you almost have a sense of childhood freedom in the Valley. You know, with a song you like. Scroll down the window. If you have a sunroof, open it. And drive. I always find therapy to do just that. I love driving across the country in America and seeing different scenes. America is beautiful, and I really want America to be as beautiful as its highways the way it treats its African children. When I say African children, I mean children born in America, African children – black people. I want them to feel the freedom of a freeway.



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