It’s not unusual to encounter misconceptions about Africa. People erroneously refer to “the country of Africa” or say that someone “speaks African.” Most of my third-grade students were African-American, and they not only knew very little about Africa; they held negative assumptions about anyone who is African. Worse, my students used “black African” as a slur. No one knew how that got started. In fact, part of the reason I usually say “black” instead of “African-American” is that I got used to my students saying “black.” The term “African” was not anything they wanted associated with themselves, even with “American” tacked on to the end.
I felt awkward as a white teacher trying to convince African-American students not to write off the entire continent. I bought books and taught lessons about different African cultures, but none of it had any visible impact until the day I brought an African friend to the classroom.
My friend Sophia is a beautiful, well-spoken, educated businesswoman. She graciously agreed to come talk to the kids. I’d had many guest speakers before. I’m fortunate to have a variety of talented friends willing to bring a little piece of the world to third-graders in Oakland, Calif. So through my friends, my students have been exposed to a doctor (a visit that included temporary casts for everyone), took a field trip to Pixar Animation Studios and enjoyed photos from a trip to Egypt that gave context to a story we were reading. Sophia, however, was our first African visitor.
I didn’t give Sophia guidelines regarding what I was looking for, but filled her in on why I asked her to come. She rose to the occasion, asking the kids how many countries they thought were in Africa and then explaining that it was many more than just one. She explained that there were around 2,000 languages spoken in Africa, none of which were called “African.” She told the kids a little about her mother’s home in Ethiopia, showed them some traditional Ethiopian clothing and described her school in Kenya, the country where her parents still live.
At the end of the lovely presentation, she asked the class what they had learned about Africa. They started with the fairly predictable: “I learned that African is not a language and that people in Africa speak many languages.” Most of the class agreed, nodding their heads vigorously. Then there were some surprises. Another child stated that she “learned that you can be African even if you’re light-skinned.” Sophia agreed and said that just like in America, Africans come in many different colors and that her mother is much darker-skinned than she and her brother. Another student had learned that “not everyone in Africa has dreadlocks.” On the other end of the spectrum we heard, “You can be African and still have hair.” Sophia graciously agreed with both statements.
“I learned that people in Africa wear clothes too,” said one surprised student. Until then, I had neither realized how deep the misperceptions ran, nor how effective it would be for the children to simply meet one person from Africa. Meeting one human being had the impact and power that books, lessons and lectures lacked.
Harris is a teacher, tutor and volunteer in California.
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