Personal Narrative: My African American Woman

All throughout time people have been “the other.” Pratt refers to the other as being “Someone who is perceived by the dominant culture as not belonging, as they have been

“I was born a poor black child” on the Gulf coast of Mississippi in Biloxi, Harrison county. It was the eleventh day of February 1961. I was delivered in the hospital at Keesler Air Force Base where my father was a lieutenant going through pilot training. My mom was now an even busier homemaker with the arrival of child number three in just 27 months.

Before 9/11 I was a normal American boy. After 9/11 I was revoked of my title as an American and belittled to an immigrant. Growing up in the Seattle area I was never faced with racism until the incident took place. I was picked on due to the religious beliefs I held. I was forced to hide my religious identity that also cultivated my culture. From this early experience I saw how fragile the American society could be. Even though I had grown up amongst my peers, they no longer saw me as an equal. Being an African American and a Muslim made me see a unique view of the American society. As an African American I witnessed racism first hand. Working at the CenturyLink Stadium as a Muslim I was forced to hide who I truly was. Walking into a store

As a darker-skinned African-American, I am told every day that my shade of color is not beautiful in society. Social institutions such as my peers (classmates and sometimes friends), school, media, etc. have all had some influence on my perceptions on what is/is not beautiful. There is a lack of diversity in film, T.V. shows, music videos, music, social media apps, etc. If there is a black woman publicized she is of lighter skin, sexualized, and exhibits European features. Globally, there is a

As an African-American young woman from a small town in Albany, Georgia. 53% of African-American females actually graduated from high school and then there's the 28% of those same young women who actually proceeded to further their education at the collegiate level. Luckily, I didn't become that statistic but it wasn't easy, see my mother and father Shannon and Michael Wright always had big dreams for me. They call me their doctor, and "Miracle hands" because they know I'm going to become an Orthopedic Surgeon. However, along with life comes trails and tribulations especially when you have to become a young woman at a very early age. See my great-grandmother was in a very atrocious and traumatic car accident, causing paralysis from the cervical(neck) region up and the coxal(hips) region down. As a

Owning a business as an african american is an outstanding accomplishment. Independent success in the african american community proves what can be done with no interference from any external factors. A study was conducted showing that employers are less likely to respond to inquiries on jobs and resumes with a stereotypical “black name” on it. This study proves that many fail to give African Americans a chance to prove themselves and are willing to do anything to keep african americans down. A primary example of this is the destruction of Black Wall Street. The blacks living in that area were doing well for themselves, having ownership of every business in that neighborhood including movie theaters, hotels, cafes, banks, and etc. This all

I wake up and remember that the All Blacks are playing this morning, so I jump out of bed and went to the lounge where I find my brother Jaycob with his All Blacks shirt on, already to watch the game, he had already got his break-fast. So I go and make myself some toast and go sit on the couch and then Clare came in and sat down to watch the game. We waited for the game to start.

With my recent launch of the Black Men Lead Initiative, it may easy for some to postulate that I have it all together as a black man. It might be part of a natural and logical progression to establish the belief that I have excelled in the area of being a strong, engaged and infallible black man. However, your speculations and assumptions would be inaccurate. Although I consider myself to be the quintessential black man, I am far from perfect. I have failed on many occasions, by the world’s standard of failure.

While sitting in a new class with new students and a new teacher, my mind swarmed with anticipation for the new school year. To which, my first ever African-American teacher entered the room with a bellowing loud sneeze. John Doe appeared, and while he was a tall and athletic, he also was very inspiring to be around. For when one sat in his class, there was never a dull moment; from all the soccer tricks, he was a professional soccer player at one point, to the brute memorization of everybody’s birthday, encouraged student to learn more than what was in a textbook.

was lucky enough to have a childhood that was fairly even-keeled – I celebrated almost as much as I grieved, and laughed as much as I cried. Even though I entered into the adult world with a balanced upbringing, I still couldn’t help but to feel that I did not develop a voice properly due to one significant event.

I am jaded. I feel empty on the inside. It’s difficult to even describe my feelings at the moment, especially after the recent events. As I wear this skin, fear and sorrow leaks from the depths of my soul. I feel numb. African American’s are persecuted and mistreated, and I am just supposed to take it? Yes, I am supposed to take it, or become another hashtag. This time, it will say #ANOTHERANGRYBLACKwoman. At work, I hear people talking about the recent homicides of black men, and it angers me. I sometimes wonder if I should speak up about the situations, or justify the actions of the police along with the white men, as the sip their coffee in the morning.

​​As a young Black African American girl I looked at myself as worthless, because I didn't have certain things that other girls in my generation had. I realized that this was a serious problem because you're told at a young age, you're beautiful and to also love what God gave to you. My steps to growing were hard, but some came to e easy. The first step I tool was meeting my best friend, he will always tell me that life is to short too complain about life

I am a woman of color. I grew up in a city with 90% hispanics yet my community still has ideas that the entire world believes, white people are better. Although that was the collective thought of the city, my parents did not allow that thought to resonate in their parenting style. My parents came from El Salvador and became American citizen just before I was born. I grew up with them showing me how the world was viewed, full of race, but explaining that the concept was something my generation could push through. They believed in me and allowed me to express myself in any way. My parents understood that having multi languages and playing sports were ways of surpassing the boundary that white people have put on colored communities; so even in

As of now I must have my parents turning in their graves with what I am doing now. I stood in a boxing ring in a room full of men that looked at me like I was their prey, the person they would feast on. Hungry looks cover the faces of the paunchy men. I was hired to dance for the men in an outfit that left nothing to the imagination; I was practically naked. Money was money and I really need the cash they are offering. But the fact that a good amount of cash would be coming my way, I was fearful of what would happen after I was done dancing. Black boys stood in front of the ring. Some with uncomfortable faces, others with the same expressions as the white men in the room. Soon enough, someone clicked play on a stereo and I began to dance.

Growing up, I’ve always been surrounded by my African family and their culture. I was raised not only by my parents but also with the help of my aunts, uncles, and grandma. My moms’ side of the family is always saying, “It takes a village to raise a family.” Which is true since I help raise my cousins now as well with the rest of my family. However, when you grow up kind of being the odd ball, you have troubles communicating with others, getting upset easily, and well just feeling out of place. I grew up not getting a long with my two siblings at the time and my aunt. On top of being the odd ball, I was also the first daughter. In fact my first name is Adamaka, which means beautiful first daughter. Now in a Nigerian culture being the first daughter is an honor, but to me it feels