ktravula – a travelogue!

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Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for the day Thursday, August 27th, 2009.

Is "Oyinbo" A Derogatory Word?

While teaching my second Yoruba class on Wednesday, I had mentioned the word “Oyinbo” to my students in passing, within a conversation, when I didn’t intend to, and when the topic of discussion at the moment could have proceeded a bit smoothier had I not committed the second unforgivable error of subsequently attempting to explain its usage in Nigeria. I have had cause to think about the word usage for quite a while now and I have mostly questioned its use, so I might have been a little too enthusiastic in responding when the questioner took cue from my explanation on a totally different matter and asked whether when I said that children called foreigners “Oyinbo” in my country, I meant that they used the word to make jest of them. In any case, I reasoned, it was just a matter of time before one Nigerian teacher in an American class somewhere drops the unlucky word into a class conversation and sparks an unending racial debate, so I jumped in and tried my best to explain. The choice such an unlucky professor might face would be easier if he would just ignore the gentle tug of his own academic conscience and not pause for a moment to explain to his whole class the meaning, connotation and usage of the word “Oyinbo”. Most sane instructors would go for the first option mainly perhaps because it is a less complicated one that saves a lot of sweat and time. However, a totally naive and perhaps optimistic young teacher might actually take a stupid chance and proceeded nevertheless, never being fully aware of the possible end result of his thankless venture.

Now, let’s examine the word, “Oyinbo”, which is supposed to refer to “(a) White Person/Caucasian/Non Black-African”. The etymology has never been agreed on, and even though a famous scholar once wrote that it is derived from “Oyin + bo” which roughly means “(Someone) peeled by the honeybee,” the word still doesn’t make much sense on its own. The word is used today both in urban, rural, and in educated circles to refer to the foreigner, most especially those with fairer skin colour (African Americans included). Those excluded from the authentic list of Oyinbos and are often called into the list mostly in jest are the really fairskinned Africans, and the Albinos. Every other person with European/Caucasian blood in them are Oyinbos, and they are called by that name both in public and in private, which brings a huge question on whether the users of the word ever mean it as a derogatory expression. The answer of course would be a NO. However, I personally have never considered it a compliment of any sort when while walking with a white/caucasian person (even within a campus environment), passers-by most of whom are complete and unwelcome strangers yell “Oyinbo!” while pointing and giggling excitely at the now totally embarrassed stranger. Most of all these cases are a confirmed result of illiteracy, mental retardation or some sadomasochistic instinct on the part of the yeller to make a public nuisance of both themselves and their foreign target. Of course! But this fact doesn’t remove from the despicableness of the act, or make the word in that instance less derogatory-like. “So, when used in a civil, polite conversation, Oyinbo is mainly a harmless term of reference, but it is insulting only when it is yelled out loud, especially by a(n unaquainted, unfriendly) stranger.” How does one explain all of this easily in a class of an elementary course on language and culture without raising red flags and unnecessarily preconditioning the mind of impressionable students to a hostile, negative cultural experience? That was my dilemma on that beautiful Wednesday afternoon.

I resolved the situation in favour of common sense, and the concise explanation I gave before moving to the next topic was a “No please, that’s not a derogative word. It is a fun word of endearment used by the Yoruba to refer to those they perceive differently because of their skin colour.” But I left the class a little worried that I myself do not totally agree with that description for its lack of depth and breath to capture all that the word “oyinbo” entails, and for the way that definition might be wrongly construed as a racist/derogatory tag. Fact is, the image that flashed across my mind when I think about it is that of a cacophonous horde of dirty little stray children chanting “Oyinbo pepper” after a foreign pedestrian on a public Lagos park, and totally enjoying the embarrassment on the face of that now despairing foreigner who curses under her breath, wonders what went wrong with this world, and wishes she had not taken up the invitation to come visit Nigeria. Yorubaland.

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I Lead An Interesting Life

This post was previously planned to be titled “What’s in a Dress?”, to explain the wonder I feel when I sit down in the lobby or the campus square in something so ordinary as my green adire outfit, and about four different students from Nigeria find their way one after the other from within the campus throng just to introduce themselves to me as Nigerian students. When asked the obviously needless question about how they came to pick me out of such a large bustling of students and scholars, the look at me and wonder back how I don’t already see the uniqueness of my appearance that stands me out. I have changed the title only because I have now fitted the regular occurences of those interesting things into a pattern of things that I can’t always be able to explain. Just whenever I start worrying towards the end of the day that something interesting might not happen to me, they always did, and I accept them with open arms.

The way of dressing and appearance, as I have now found out to my amazement, is actually a more serious endeavour than just mere fashion. They make a statement, and it is a part of losing one’s identity when one no longer finds it necessary to dress in the way of one’s people no matter where one is. Well, let me say that this is just my opinion.

Going, going...!

On the night of welcoming us here to campus, at the party hosted by the International Hospitality Programme, I had engaged a senior Indian student in a discussion about the beauty of long Indian hair when I saw and complimented a beautiful Indian student who had just walked past. He scoffed my compliment and told me in a half-conspiratorial tone that “If you ask her, you’d most likely find out that she’s a first-year student. And that’s why she still looks Indian. By next year, she’d have become more Americanized, and she’d have cut off all that hair which now reaches down to her waist. You’ll see.” It sounded funny so I pretended to laugh it off, but thinking seriously about the charge. Could this be true? Indeed, all the older Indian students I know here have short hair. Could he be telling the truth? A few minutes later when the programme started, I got another chance to meet the lady in question and I asked her what her major was and her level as well. It was a wonder to learn that indeed she was a first-year student, and was just arriving in the United States. I asked her if she would ever think of cutting her hair off, and she said “no, never.” Sai however thinks that her response to me was just a standard response, the same kind I’m likely to get from all fresh students from India. It was just a matter of time before they all become Americanized.

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Now how do Americans look? I really have no clear idea either, but I can tell you for sure that they don’t look a lot like I did today when I rode to school in an Adire attire. What’s in a dress/appearance anyway? A saying in my native Yoruba language can after all be loosely translated as: “A tree adorned in the most beautiful attire is not thus ennobled.”

Now as I was leaving my linguistics class taught by Kristine Hilderbrandt this evening, all stressed up and almost wishing that the requirement of my Fulbright programme didn’t include a necessarily class attendance for some Masters courses here in the University, but on the other hand also grateful for the rare opportunity, I was wondering whether there was anything else interesting that would happen to me before the end of the day, when I was accosted by this coursemate of mine from the same class I was just leaving. He’s an American graduate student who has been grouped with me in the first class assignment. He was animated, and looked a little overexcited. To be fair to him, he was just looking to make a conversation, but I wasn’t. I’d had enough work for the day and all I wanted to do was just go home and rest. As I zipped my bag and waited for him to say something smart, he shifted a little and stuttered out the words that first stunned, later amused, but absolutely tested my patience for just a little while before goading me homewards.

“Oh Cola, so how/when/where did you learn to speak in English?” He asked.

I never saw that one coming! But what can I say? I do lead an interesting life!

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