After reflecting on how shared pain connects us and how even “going home” can be complicated for people in the diaspora, I thought I had closed that chapter. But it turns out this conversation keeps finding its way back to me.
I came across a tweet recently that asked, “Why do Black Americans hate Africans?”
The replies were… plenty. I couldn’t get through them all but a few stuck with me.
One response from a Black American said:
“We don’t hate Africans. Some of them have just been stirring up drama lately, and we’re not fans of it.”
Then, the replies from Africans:
“They don’t want to be associated with Africa because of how the media shows us.”
“Black Americans act like they’re better than us.”
Some were even harsher:
“They’re more racist than the whites.”
“Africans are arrogant.”
“They laugh at us when we speak.”
At first, it’s easy to focus on how wild these comments sound. But when I sat with them a little longer, I realised… a lot of it wasn’t just people being mean. These were wounds talking.
Some shaped by misunderstanding that’s had decades, maybe centuries, to grow unchecked.
Still, in the middle of it all, a few voices spoke up to challenge the divide.
“We need to stop this. We’ve all been affected by the same systems. We just experienced it differently.”
“We don’t have to erase the differences. But we can understand them.”
Truly, we don’t hear that enough.
Colonialism, slavery, migration, media portrayals. They’ve all left their marks.
They taught many Africans to strive for anything Western, and they taught many Black Americans to search for an identity that was stolen from them.
Different histories, different battles but similar scars.
Both groups have had to fight for their worth but from opposite directions.
So really, it’s no surprise that sometimes, when we look at each other, we’re not always sure what we’re seeing.
Which brings me back to that tweet: “Why do Black Americans hate Africans?”
Honestly? I think that’s the wrong question.
It’s not about hate. It’s about history. It’s what happens when people are taken from their roots, forced to survive in new systems, and then left to piece their identity together later.
We don’t all have the same experiences. We don’t even always understand each other.
But we don’t have to stay stuck there.
So when I see the harsh comments, the jabs, the frustration, I try not to look away.
I see where it’s coming from.
It’s pain. It’s confusion. It’s history talking.
But the shame? It didn’t start with us. Still we’re the ones living with it.
And maybe, we’re also the ones who get to decide where it ends.
So let’s stop talking at each other and start seeing each other.
Same skin, different stories, but still worth telling side by side.
