I Called a White Guy the N word

Identity and patriotism are very relatable notions to many people in the world. Hell, this even caused some European nations to succumb to the love of their scrupulous cultures that they decided to poison African countries with them.

That's why I can't exercise my rights to conquer my neighbours' villa just because white men decided it was 'illegal' all of a sudden. Tell that to Ruganzu Ndoli, you bunch of losers.

Although the plan isn't to argue the pros and cons of colonialism, we need, however, to talk about the effects that it brought to many 21st century kids gathered on this blog like puppies.

And that is the loss of a connection to our motherlands as Africans.

We all know there's a very orgasmic feeling seeing ourselves or our stories portrayed on the big screens. We all love that. Black Panther was the proof. And for us Rwandans, watching our President talk down those white "superior-wannabe rich kids in men's shoes" people in their own events is simply thrilling, and ego-feeding.

It is almost scary to watch this since we are so overtaken by our pride whenever one of ours excels in the western world as if the future is abroad, or being a monument locally isn't enough that we need to find solace in making it there. Even though the fact that one-night-stands surprisingly flourish there, why the fuck do we think like this?

Nonetheless, it's also amazing to witness the online war that takes place whenever the western media dares to speak of our name without consent. Twitter has this on record. And yet, despite the "bitch you said what?" quote retweets I make every time, I'm not sure I'm patriotic enough or immensely embraced our culture.

You could probably blame it on all things western that I've absorbed and shaped me over the years. Hell, even this writing I call passion comes from colonizers. The mere marketing of their lifestyles has spoiled us to the point even when we try to fight the system from the inside or push our own cultures onto them, we pitifully end up taking the first offer to join them. Because if we're being honest with ourselves, we want to be one of them.

Or maybe that was the intention all along. "Do it to get noticed."

So I asked myself, of course, after a milliard of other people wondering the same thing, "Are you really Rwandan if you don't uphold your own nationality and identity to the outside world but rather choose to embrace their often toxic contents?"

"What happens when you start stepping into the white man walk? or lose yourself in the pursuit of becoming like westerners that you forget who you are, what you believe in and why the fuck is it called McDanold when it's written McDonald?" And to all these, I was speechless.

I have parted ways with learning the most about where I come from and my parents' origins. And instead, seem to know every inch of Adele's Los Angeles mansion, the origin story of "The Beatles", and where China's first gay person was spotted. FYI, they turned his house into an iPhone factory after he kissed the prime minister.

I can't seem to be curious aboiut the many sex tapes my fellow Rwandan girls make, but I got Kim's favourite sex positions folder locked in one of my dummy accounts protected by the pentagon and Donald Trump's secret launch codes.

I uphold western and french movies so high that I can't even seem to watch one episode of Papa Sava or any Rwandan YouTube channel that involves weird interviewers and self-indulgent guests who keep screaming "okurrr", whereas I'm knee-deep in Jimmy Kimmel Live every day. It's a pity, and nobody should call this being well-read, or having "Taste."

For I don't think one has taste if they can't even eat their own food before budging in other people's houses asking for a plate of whatever they left in the fridge.

Nevertheless, having friends and family members, and the youth in general already grooming themselves into sincerely caring and fighting for Rwanda's and Africa's freedom and future is of tremendous envy, jealousy, and grateful hate on my part. I get to see people who've matured and know what they love and need to do in this world.

Upon realizing this, I wanted to know more about my country. If not for the sake of being better, then at least for an Instagram campaign to make me look good, and hopefully, the "fake it till you make it" line will eventually blossom like wine. Honestly, some of you guys do this already, so don't judge.

I want to do it for the right reasons, learn about every single detail about the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi, the milliards of powerful kings and queens, the arts and religions, and stories of the past. I want to know all of it. I want to be part of it. Most importantly, I hope to get your help moving forward.

It might suck forcing myself to love Phil Peter's interviews or any other Rwandan Produced TV Show, but maybe if they hire me as their creative director, things might turn out great. And yes, this is a lowkey cover letter. Just wait till you see my CV. It looks like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's new baby if they got back together.

To end this newsflash that I'm sure most of you relate to or to some extent realize about yourself, take with you this lesson that I learnt the hard way:

"Home is where your heart rests, but belonging comes from being able to walk in it naked without shame." A quote by drunk me!

It will demand being proud of where I come from and doing my best to push it further to the standards I hold dear. And I'm ready to do so.

Are you?