I am from peppers, onions and tomatoes, stewed in palm oil.
I am from red dust swirling around pot-holed roads, the salty smell of the ocean just a faint breath away.
I am from heat; Hot heat, sweltering, creating a burn in my furrowed brow as I play outside, rivulets of sweat running down my back.
I am from people, skin black as coal with white shiny teeth, perpetually smiling.
I am from pinkish Irish roots that endearingly speak of leprechauns.
I am from ample bosoms and rounded hips with colorful lace wrappers tied around them.
I am from Polish Jews absconding, running away from hatred and vitriol, valuables in hand.
I am from Fela blaring through loudspeakers in shops and from car radios and echoing against the backdrop of tall crosses on white churches.
I am from “Alwakubar” blaring from minarets, overpowering the background of saxophone tunes crooning hi-life music, creating a cacophony of dissonance.
I am from the ringing of hand bells by men and women in white sashed robes, barefoot, proclaiming “Repent. The kingdom of God is at hand.”
I am from cowrie shells that may have been used to divine the future from Olodumare, The God of heaven and earth.
I am from a home where diversity flourished and love abounded, fed to me with the hands that cooked and taught me to cook, that read, and taught me to think.
Where are you from?
This question is important. So often, we run away from our backgrounds. We feel that others may not accept us or we are embarrassed about our past. Yet, our past, that place we are from continues to shape us even today. Your lineage continues to influence you and define you whether or not you are aware of it. Where are you from? Share, share, share.