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Ciara and I went to a fantastic French wine show in Paris last week during my mini vacay. It was so good, we got tipsy and started talking loudly in English about things that then made us laugh loudly and point at one another. Sigh, I miss her.

Anyway doe, people were staring, yes because we were boisterous, but mostly because we were black AND speaking English. See, you don’t see many niggas in Paris, I mean of course there are the Africans and such, but you hardly ever see any real niggas in Europe. For serious, French people STARE at me and I can see the confusion of why my black ass is speaking English so well, of course then they are intrigued because I have mastered another white mans language…but that’s another story for another post (“mastery of language affords remarkable power.”)

It makes me feel weird. That literally when french people see me speaking English their whole demeanor changes, I am no longer a mere African using up vital resources in France, I am now a cool and interesting anomaly that straddles the lines of culture and prestige through my knowledge of the powerful dialect called English. Franz Fanon put it best, “to speak…means above all to assume a culture, to support the weight of a civilization.”

I don’t want to assume this culture, it betrays me.

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