All Black People Are Not The Same!

It's not February but I'm feeling a little bit of "Soul Power." We call our selves unnecessarily honest... so I'm going to speak some truth about something that is forever driving me crazy!

Only in New York do you meet a fellow black person and ask them "What ethnicity are you?" It's as normal as asking someone their name, and more common than asking a person "Can I have your number?"

I grew up in Jamaica, Queens. My neighbors were Jamaican-American, and the only issues we had with them was their music being played too loud and too early in the morning, and their car. For some reason, they would block the driveway and wash their car about four times a week.

Across the street was a family that moved from Brooklyn, they were African-American (AA) like us. They had six kids and were like family to us. Most of the other people who lived on the block were AA's besides for this one family on the corner. The first time that I can remember meeting a Haitian person was around the age of 10. His name was Peter, and he was one of the nearly 15 people living in that house on the corner. He was sweet, and although I couldn't understand him most of the time, I knew he was a nice guy. At this time I didn't know where Haiti was located on the map, I didn't know anything about them other than this family on the corner.

During the beginning of my freshmen year in High School my family moved to Rockland County, NY (next to Westchester County) and I feared one thing: I thought I would be the only black person in my school.

To my surprise the majority of the school was black, and most of the blacks were Haitian. I grew to love Haitians, but at times it was like being the only dog in a room full of cats, I missed my own kind... so much that as a senior I enrolled into a historically black university in the south, where the only questions I'd be asked were: "What's your name?" "What state are you from?" "Which dorm do you stay in?" "Who's your roommate? "Is that your real hair?" "Do you know Kristen?" And so on.

Now I'm back in New York, transferred to a SUNY (State University of New York) because I was tired of paying too much for school, and I'm back into the madness [that I love]. There's one thing that I love and at the same time hate about New York... the diversity.

If I'm called "regular black" or "plain black" one more time, someone is going to get the history of my people stamped onto their forehead!

A few weeks ago I went to a Haitian barbecue where I was asked to grill. My response: "What the heck?" I had to pull back and realize this is not my family. I began yelling at the men in the house: "What type of man are you? What kind of man can't use a grill?" I was peeved to say the least. I silently wished for my people and our barbecues, where the men grill, the women prepare and make the side dishes, the beer and drinks are in the cooler, and the Kool-Aid (red flavor) is sitting in a punch bowl. Motown and other old school hits are blaring from the speakers, and me and my cousins sit and relax while watching the kids run around like wilderbeasts. Now that's a barbecue!

I have had too many run ins where people at my school ask me: "What nationality are you?" Here's how the conversation continues:
I reply: "American."
Idiot: "American? We're all American. Where's your family from?"
Cece: "America."
Idiot: "Nobody's from America."
Cece: "I'm from America. My family is from Georgia and North Carolina."
Idiot: "Oh so you're just black?"
Cece: "I'm African-American."

If they piss me off enough with the questions and comments I go to remind them that if not for Martin Luther King Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement, which by the way their people were not a part of, they would not be in this country being lynched, hosed down by the police, and discriminated with my people. And if not for my people they'd be in their beloved country that they ran away from. I usually rant, I don't like being disrespected.

I move on to say that all black people are not the same, we are all a part of the African Diaspora, but our history and cultures are very different. Sometimes I feel that I relate to white Americans more than I relate to other blacks in this country.

When it comes to love, my father advised us to date other AA's. He doesn't discriminate, he just understands the difference between cultures. I like soul food, someone else may like Jamaican or other Caribbean Cuisine. Some like fried chicken, others rather beef patties. Of course there are other differences besides for food, but it's all relative, and neither is right or wrong. My boyfriend is African-American, and what I love most about his family is that we both share a unique and similar past. Both of our families are from Georgia and the Carolinas.

I love diversity, America is a melting pot and that's one of the things that make this country great. I love black people, regardless of where they are from. But if anyone calls me "plain black" one more time I'm going to have to whip out a pistol and show them how my people and the rest of the Union ran down the darn Confederacy!

By Coco Elle -- "I love all people, black, white, yellow, green, Puerto Rican, Haitian, Asian, etc. But this is just the truth. Don't hate me because I'm honest."