To all my Nigerian brothers and sisters…
I am, always have been, and always will be proud of my Nigerian heritage.
I understand the pain and anger caused by some of the comments I made in a
recent interview, and I wanted to address you directly. Contrary to
popular belief, this interview was not the first in which I mentioned
Nigeria. In fact, I’m frequently bragging about how Nigerians attend the
world’s most prestigious institutions, and how we are known to produce
world class doctors, entrepreneurs, innovators, lawyers, engineers,
professors, athletes and artists. Unfortunately, people tend to leave
these moments out, and, in this case, highlight stereotypes. I would never
do or say anything to intentionally disgrace the legacy of my father nor
my fatherland. But to not relay my own story, both the good times and the
bad, would be a disservice.
My name is Jidenna, which means “to hold or embrace the father” in Igbo.
It was my father who gave me this name and who taught me countless
parables, proverbs, and principles that made me the man I am today. These
same principles helped me to write the record “Classic Man.” When I
brought home a 98 percent on a test, my father would say, “ah ah, where
are the other two points? Go and get them, then bring them back.” My
father and Nigerian culture has always stood for excellence. While the
majority of my childhood memories are beautiful, I also have experienced
the challenges that Nigeria has faced since Independence.
When I was 5 years old, my family was robbed at gunpoint, my mother was
beaten, family members were kidnapped, and I was shot in my foot. As is
the case with all kidnapping, targeting those who are perceived to be
wealthy is the objective. In this instance, my father was the target
because of his prominence in the community. This was a traumatic
experience for my family that would shape our entire lives and our
experiences in both Nigeria and America. As a little boy, I swore that I
would never let that happen to my family again. As my father often said,
“Once you’re bitten by a snake, you‘ll be ready to shoot a lizard!” At the
time of my father’s burial 5 years ago, my family in the village was
concerned about increased targeting for kidnapping since the rate of
abductions had increased dramatically in the area we are from. We were
traveling from America, which along with our biracial appearance, had the
potential to attract attention and pose a threat to our security. In light
of what happened in the past and the tense climate at the time, my family
took precautions to ensure our safety. This was not an uncommon protocol
at the time. I recognize incidents such as these are not unique to Nigeria
or the African continent, and there have been significant improvements in
the region since this period.
In the recent interview to which I’ve been referring, I shared my family’s
experience traveling from the States back home for the burial. In this
interview, I used the term “light-skinned.” When using this term, I was
actually referring to my immediate family’s mixed or biracial appearance.
See, no matter what language I use to describe my heritage, I’m certain
that someone will feel some kind of way. This is a larger discussion not
meant for this statement, but certainly derives from our colonial past and
postcolonial present, and in the States, from the days of slavery to the
present times. My comments about skin tone were related to the notion of
perceived wealth and value, not my personal beliefs. My point was never to
imply that biracial or “light-skinned” people are the only ones or the
most targeted group of people kidnapped, or that I myself was wealthy at
the time. Rather than focus on my perceived value, let us continue to
focus on the value of Nigeria.
There is no question that Africa is playing a pivotal role in the future
of our planet and that Nigeria, with it’s booming economy and burgeoning
middle class, is a driving force. I will continue to play my role in the
Renaissance taking place in Nigeria and Africa at large. We may not agree
on everything, but know my heart is your heart, and my experience is part
of our collective experience.