Are You From Africa?

I was working on an online course at a North Hills library when a Latina, who had seen me there several times before but never spoke to me, asked me if I was an African.
I paused, looked at her and said, "Well, not for a few generations; why?"
Her reply - the one I usually get - was, "You look African."

"Well, I should sincerely hope so," I thought. I'd feel really bad if, at this point in my life, that suddenly I began to look Nordic or Mongolian or something. Then, I said to myself, with all the variety of Black and White and all the colors and races in between who are Africans, I began to think that was just an ignorant statement. Not so much biased or racially motivated in malice, just ignorant. Everybody is ignorant to something. Labels are so much more convenient than talking and getting to know someone. If I just thought, oh, she's just another Mexican, I could have ignorantly missed that many Latinos here in L.A. are from all over central and south America - that's more than 20 nationalities.

I told her, my father is from the Caribbean, but that I am from here; America.
We nodded congenially to each other, I returned to my work and her to web searching and that was about as far as our conversation went. In my travels, the one thing I genuinely look forward to is cultural exchange - of ideas, of ways of life, of cultural identity.

While wandering in Egypt, a young man approached me at an outdoor market and in his best English he said, "I very much admire your Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr." It was a proud moment for me and my Ex-Successful travel buddy, but it said to me, he knew I wasn't "African" but that he found something unique and admirable in me being an American - a Black American - that he made a point of sharing with me. It also said to me that peoples around the world are watching us Black Americans. I remember reading somewhere that the measure of America, after slavery, was to be how Blacks were treated and how we developed an overcame our oppressions.

That library inquiry was not the first time people of other races have asked me that question, but each time I hear it, I always stop and wonder why.
Of course, my first thought is to go straight to the protect-the-race mode and ask , "Why!" You ain't neva seen a Black American man reading before?" But I don't. Though, one day, I'd really like to, just to see the reaction. Sometimes I think it's a compliment. Sometimes, I attribute it to the region I'm wandering through and think she must not get the opportunity to speak with too many Black people. How unfortunate that this region is so diverse, but yet so disconnected.

I always wonder if they are making a racist remark, a condescending remark, an ignorant one or are really trying to make contact and get a better understanding - the latter is what I always hope for. The questions bounce around my mind like several pinballs released in a bonus round - lights flashing, bumpers bumping and all.

Then I stop myself and ask the next question, "Is it really that odd for a Black man to be in a library? So much so that you'd think they were African?" Then I ask my self if I'm making too much out of this simple question.

I work to keep my jaws clinched to stop several thoughts and snippy remarks trying to make their way out of my mouth. Then, I usually, smile, and let out a small laugh and ask why. They never seem to answer. And I never really know how to respond.

In general, I don't think too much about it but when people of my own race ask me the same question, then I'm really puzzled.
But, thank God, Black folks will talk straight with you.
The explanation I usually get is, "You look African and you talk kinda proper." So, what does an African look like? Me, I guess; by the sound of it.

"I'm not an African, nor am I an African American," Smokey Robinson said in a You Tube video. "I'm Black! Black is not our color, it's who we are," he continued.
I don't want to dwell in the past. But my race and I - in America - will never get away from it.

I guess the question I should be asking myself is, "Who am I?" Who am I today? How do I define myself?

I think the next time someone asks me if I'm an African, I'll just answer,
"I am an American."

And I'm Black. And I'm proud.