It took a mighty long while, but I can finally say that I have done a decent amount of international traveling—especially around the African diaspora. And I can say, unfortunately, that I have heard the word nigga used in every single place that I have gone to. It is the one term that unifies all of God’s African tribes under one Black umbrella. From Kingston to Kigali, the “N” word (without the er) is undoubtedly the most significant contribution of Black Americans to the English language. For the most part, it's used in the exact same way that it’s used in the States.
Imagine two college girls sitting down at an upscale coffee shop in Kimihurura, Kigali, Rwanda. They are catching up with one another over hot tea casually mixing Kinyarwandan into their dialogue just like one would mix honey into Rooibos. Then one says something shocking to the other and she, without hesitation, replies;
“Nigguhhh?”
She says it in such a comical and drawn-out way that one would swear we were in East Detroit as opposed to East Africa. In a millisecond my ears perk up instinctively and my back straightens up in my chair. A few seconds pass before I quickly fall back into chill mode. There is no need for fight or flight. For she, being the beautiful young Black Queen that she is, obviously did not mean to offend. It was one of those incidents when I said “Funny” to myself, but I did not laugh.
Then there are other times when, awkwardly enough, you are the nigga. Like in the Rosebank section of Johannesburg when the middle-aged assistant at the laundry mat—a little sista about 4’11 from Diepkloof, Soweto who I had gotten really cool with. Once when I saw her randomly at the mall, she gave me a hug and a beaming smile as if we had gone to High School together instead of me being a foreigner who had only been in the country for about a month—came up to me and said; “What’s up my Knee-guh,” in a super thick South African accent. It was cringe-inducing. I mean what was I supposed to do, give her a lecture about the history of that word? Or should I have told her about how my parents from the American South (Arkansas and Tennessee respectively) would never allow that word to be used by their children in any capacity? I did neither. I only gave her a very forced, confused, and unnatural smile along with a semi-chuckle, dropped my bag of dirty laundry in her hands and left.
It felt the same way when the gentleman who was working at the front counter of the gym, also in Johannesburg, hit me with “What’s up my Nigga?” as soon as I walked into the facility. I looked at him with derision for long enough for him to try to justify it by saying; “What? There’s nothing wrong when one black person says it to another one.” My quick response was; “Yes. There is something very wrong with that.” He seemed to not understand the issue. Telling me that any other Black American person would have no problem with what he said. I told him with finality that I am not them as I checked in to do my workout. I decided to preserve the civility, but what I wanted to say was; “What’s up my KAFFIR?” (Kaffir is a derogatory term used for Black South Africans but—unlike nigga—it was never embedded in popular culture due to the unstoppable locomotive that is corporate hip hop) I dismissed this idea no sooner than I brought it up because I did not want to offend the other two gym employees who had nothing to do with his transgression.
The employee was so convinced of his knowledge regarding who was allowed to say nigga and who wasn’t that he didn’t realize that he only knew half of the lesson. He had accepted the privilege but not the baggage. Africans miss the entire context. You do not call a customer nigga at work. Read the room. If you know that I’m heavy on the “My brotha, My sista” talk then why would you reduce me to being a nigga? I did not travel 10,000 miles from home to be anyone’s nigga. In fact, that’s exactly what I was trying to escape.
There is something very unsettling about black people in the motherland saying nigga. They speak Kinyarwanda, they celebrate ancient African chastity at the reed festival, they secretly practice voodoo rituals to heal their children when western medicine fails them, there are even many “good Christians” who do this. None of these people, as empathetic to our struggle as they may be, would ever disrespect their ancestors the way we do. I don’t care what Katt Williams says, I don’t care what Zora Neale Hurston wrote, I don’t care what Jay-Z sang
Jigga/My nigga
The truth is Harriet Jacobs would be disheartened. Frederick Douglass would not approve. If you think Sojourner Truth would be O.K with us calling one another niggas in front of the entire world then you are a damned lie. Black Americans are the best fighters that the world has ever known. I mean this both literally (in the sport of boxing) and figuratively (in terms of surviving the middle passage). We taught the white man how to properly serve his own God. We taught him how to receive the Holy Spirit even though he never acknowledges it and has never paid us back. We are philosophers, wordsmiths, intellectuals, sensualists, bold, creative, pretty people. Can we think of a more righteous word that encapsulates who we are and project that to the global melanated masses? Can we export pure love instead of gilded self-hatred?