What it’s like being an American with a British accent

There are very few good things about your parents splitting up when you are five. Arguments, tensions, and the usual “what is it me?” musings definitely reside on the sucky part of the spectrum. On the flip-side, a weird twist of fate may see you moving continents away from your home.

Moving to a new country when you’re five can be scary. I spent a great deal of time wondering where everyone I loved was hiding, where my toys were, where was our big house, and why was everything that had defined me thus far disappeared. However, ending up spending your childhood in the greatest city in the world, makes up for the more unfortunate parts.

I am an American with a British accent. Yes, it is always fun having to explain that one to people. Questions can go from “how does that happen?” to “what were you doing there?” and truth be told I still cannot answer either question. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

People’s reactions are typically funny to me. Before I got to America, my friends and I spent a great deal discussing what people’s reactions to the ‘black girl with the British accent’ would be, but the expectations don’t even compare to the reality. People’s reactions range from delight to just being weirded out. Sometimes it can be really sweet like “I just love hearing you speak” or it can be really grating like “you have an accent!” No shit Sherlock.

I didn’t realize I had an accent until I came to America. I didn’t even have the slightest inclination that accents were such a big deal. I just always thought I was speaking. Yes, I knew accents existed, but I lived in London and if anyone had an accent, it wasn’t me- I certainly didn’t care if you had an accent or not.

I also feel a tinge of guilt, because I get that pass. I get people telling me they love my accent and fawning over “how pretty I speak,” but my sister who grew up in Nigeria and has a Nigerian accent is faced with people asking her to repeat herself and making her feel like she’s speaking the wrong English. In Nigeria everyone is taught to speak the correct ‘Queen’s English,’ so if anything we are speaking English better than most English speaking countries.

I have an American passport, but in my heart I will always be firmly and securely British. It is where my ability to appreciate hot tea in any weather derives from, my uncontrollable sarcasm and the sole reason why I have the patience to wait in any line – rain or shine.

Souf East London is undeniably the best place on Earth. It is the only place where you can fear gang crime and also be treated to the most beautiful architectural pieces in modern history. We are not the coolest part of the London metropolitan area, but we have the quaintest charm and a fish and chips on every corner.

If that whole ‘American with a British accent’ wasn’t confusing enough for you, I am also proudly Nigerian. What can I say? I’m international ya’ll. I have a typical immigrant’s story. It’s not fancy, nor is it brand new. Despite what people like Donald Trump would have you believe, we immigrants are not here to ‘destroy your country, turn your children into ISIS members or rape and kill your women.’ We are here for the opportunities that we are not able to get in our home countries.

My father fought so my siblings and I could have the opportunities he wasn’t privileged enough to grow up with. My father sought to achieve something that is a universal desire for all parents, to see your children do better and be better than you.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie wrote in her critically that Nigerians have been “conditioned from birth to look towards somewhere else, eternally convinced that real lives happened in that somewhere else,” and I can’t help but solemnly nod my head in agreement.

I visited Nigeria a few summers ago and people generally made me feel that I was somehow ‘lucky’ to have grown up in London. It makes me sad and a little angry that my Nigeria that I love so much isn’t good enough for these people, then I remember that same thing applies to my family- no matter how much I wish it didn’t. Yet, as my father sometimes likes to remind us, his mother doesn’t even know how to read, and the fact that my siblings and I are able to be educated and eventually pursue whatever career path we desire in arguably one of the greatest countries in the world, is a truly remarkable thing.

Posing in the ultra hip streets of Ibadan, Nigeria.

I will forever be grateful for my Dad’s sacrifice. He left what would have been a comfortable middle class environment to be thrust into racism, being looked down upon, and menial jobs. I am grateful. Without that blind love my father has for his children- I would not be here. I would not have the core beliefs and the values that make me who I am. I would not have the Nigerian values of respect, family and community, and I would not have the westernized ideologies of equality, freedom and hope for the future. It is these two very different cultures and faith that have helped to form the basis of who I am, and the woman I strive to be.

Mother Theresa famously once said that “a life not lived for others is not a life.” I want to eventually be in a position, where I can dedicate my life to helping those children whose fathers couldn’t travel entire continents in order to give their children a better life. I want to be the voice for the children who have to choose between getting an education or supporting their family out of poverty so eventually that’s not even a choice they ever need to make.

There a very few things about your parents splitting up when you’re five. You’re thrust into hostility and new surroundings. You’re now one of ‘those’ Nigerians who crawled and fought their way out the country because Nigeria was seemingly going downhill, and you didn’t want to get caught up in the chaos of the likely rubble.

Skip to a decade later, this foreign place is now home. You are just as American as Bob down the street, and not one person can dare to tell you different. You have the opportunities your father fought for. You have the dreams you grandmother probably never dreamt of, but always prayed for. You’re working hard so your fellow people don’t have to scrounger, nor leave their homes in order to find ‘opportunities’ because their brighter tomorrow is right there, in their backyard.