The lonely road in Academia

I never imagined that Life as a Doctoral student would be this lonely.

I am studying Liberation Theology in the practical theology program at the Toronto School of Theology. Perhaps it is because I am one of a literal handful of Black students or because I am a parent with little time to do the on campus social thing. Or maybe it is because I am THAT girl in class who calls the professor out on the paucity of diverse authors on their reading lists, or the student who sings the praises of #whitesaviorisms  that looks to enhance the capacity of African's, you know, so we can be eschew our identities and be more like #whiteness and you know, thrive.

SMDH. Major Side eye and kiss teeth.


Whatever the case may be, I literally have no friends in my program. Oh well. Go figure.

Thankfully, I have a supervisor that I consider a mentor and I can count on her being there to read, listen and come along side me as I reflect on the scads of information I am taking in and trying to make sense of. My one ally who doesnt seem to miss an opportunity to remind me the I am good as I am and that my potential has everything to do with who I am and nothing to do with how I do or do not fit in.

Thank you Nevin. You are my shero.

It took me a while to put my finger on this loneliness. I first I thought I just had to be more friendly. Well, I went to a few of the get-togethers and realized that I had very little in common with the folks there. Then i thought, what if I worked out of the grad study space? Nahhh, Black folks know better than to go into a space where white people leave their stuff lying around. Recipe for all kinds of allegations. I remember the one time i was studying in the hallway and some white dude called me a bitch because I my phone was beeping too loud with text messages. Le sigh. Another story for another post.

To be honest though the pain of the isolation is felt most deeply in the classrooms.  It makes sense because classrooms are my favorite places. However it is in the classrooms that I quickly recognized that the lenses I have, that insist on a decolonized narrative in order for diversity of thought, is so "out there", that I either piss off my classmates or miss them totally with my justice/liberation/decolonization worldview. 

Then there are the assigned readings that often have me shaking my head in awe at the narrowness of the perspective, the colonial hegemony vibrantly alive in the academic discourse to be had, especially if one went by the material selected for course content.

Outside of the classroom I feel no less welcome that I did when I am inside. I walk through the hallways and I avert my gaze from the potraits on the walls celebrating  whiteness and the patriarchal powers who most certainly would have a thing or two to say about this Black African woman taking up space and speaking out about their domination and colonizing of thought and history. Oh well.

Then there is the food on the so-called community days that alienates community members like myself. Not even the delicacy of a friend plantain is to be had! What a shame! Then there is the music in the chapel, a sure-fire wire to include but sadly an opportunity that goes unnoticed.

And so on and so forth.

Maybe it is me.
Maybe I ought to know by now that these institutions are not set up for the likes of me to feel "at home".
At best they (either saliently or overtly) engineer an environment that reinforces the poison of colonization that says I am not good enough to see myself reflected in these spaces.
The poison that says, my ways of knowing and the knowledge created therein are at best secondary in import.
The poison that forces me to spend my intellectual capital acquiring knowledge that does not serve the public health of my people.

Aww dang it. And to think I spent my life dying to be here. I couldn't wait to be considered good enough to walk these hallowed halls, to learn so that I could be equipped to serve.

And now they say Black Lives Matter.
They fill up our inboxes with emails on what they will be doing to show that Black Lives Matter.
We will listen they say.
We will put money into resources.
We will hold talks and center the black experience.

Okay.
Or, as we say in Ghana, Yoo, I've heard.

But miss me on the enthusiasm for change if I don't believe how all of this equals a commitment to re-imagining education as a whole. For I have come to understand that unless there is a vested interest in decolonizing ways of learning and learning spaces, the insidious cancer that is Anti-Blackness and in truth Anti-African, well that cancer will do what cancers do so well. Stiffle, Suck and Drain the life out of any effort to check it.

Cue Luciano's song..." Give me a one way ticket.." the Bob Marley's .. " Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery.."