Inviting the SpongeBob Generation to the Archives of African History

Ian, a friend and business associate, came to visit me yesterday to brainstorm a project. It was Saturday afternoon and my children were home, getting on with their weekend routine of bathing, eating, cleaning up and eventually plunging on the couch to watch TV while I prepare lunch or pack a bag for an afternoon at the park. I have trouble concentrating on work when they’re home and I usually find a secluded corner of the house where I can think clearly for a few minutes or hours, depending on the task. So I suggested that my husband (who has a great creative mind), Ian and I seek refuge in the “dungeon” (the garage) to discuss the project and plan ahead. Very soon, all three of us had diverted from our objective and what ensued was an enlightening conversation about the history of Africa and some of the eccentric leaders who have impacted the continent over the last forty years. For more than two hours, we shared insights and stories we’d heard, experienced or imagined about Nkrumah, Mugabe, Mobutu and other leaders. They were funny, scary, surprising stories that helped crystalize my understanding of how far the continent has come since the days of our newly-acquired independence. We could have continued for two more hours if the children didn’t need to be attended to.

About an hour into our conversation, I came to the sad realisation that scenarios like these are probably played out in households all across the continent, where adults engage in passionate debates about politics, economics and history on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Over a beer and a meal, people of my father’s generation and mine discuss the continent’s journey, the players who shaped it in various ways, and why, in their opinion, Africa is in the state it’s in. The sad part is that in the majority of these households, children are often left in front of the TV, watching SpongeBob Squarepants or some brain-numbing cartoon, completely excluded from these important conversations. And when they do come into the room and want to join in the storytelling, they’re hushed away as a nuisance interfering with “adult” time. I speak from experience- I was dismissed from several adult discussions growing up. The problem is that these stories, the history of our continent told over a beer and a meal at home, are not passed down to the next generation. The value of the opportunity to share is completely missed by so-called “intellectual” parents who think children probably wouldn’t understand anyway. And so our African children continue to learn about their history, about themselves, by watching TV or in school, ingesting a curriculum that does not reflect their true selves, shaped by someone else’s history. They are forced to form their belief systems around archaic ideas of inferiority of the black man/woman, belief systems that were manufactured with the sole purpose of colonising their forefathers in the first place. And so, African history is lost over generations, diluted into a few funny, scary and surprising anecdotes here and there, amongst a multitude of negative stories that make the black child feel inferior to the white child, merely because they are made to live in sheer ignorance, lacking the knowledge that would make them proud of their legacy.

As Africans, it is vital that we do not exclude our children from important conversations about our continent- the good and the bad. It is important that we make these conversations part of our routines at home, that we discuss our heritage at the dinner table. We need to do a better job at documenting our history. But more than that, in a digital age where technology is slowly but surely overruling human interaction, we need to revisit our storytelling culture, the oral tradition of passing down history from one generation to the next. Europeans have written countless volumes of literature documenting their history. They imposed their history on African classrooms. American history is well known the world over and fuels a sense of patriotism in the majority of its citizens. Most Asian children, no matter where they live in the world, are taught their indigenous languages at home and can recount the feats of key historical figures who shaped their countries’ paths. African children, from Djibouti to Cape Town, have a stronger understanding of French or British history than their own. We are failing them in this way- failing to build their self-esteem, to give them confidence in who they are and where they come from, to reassure them that their blood line is such that they were not destined to be followers but to lead. Let’s invite our children to the dinner table and share with them our history. Give them freshly squeezed orange juice instead of a beer and let them partake in the meals and discussions about Africa with us and our mates, spouses and business associates. If we do, who knows what the continent will look like when they grow up, when it’s their turn to lead? I am willing to bet anything that the continent’s future will be a lot brighter. Let’s not leave the responsibility of storytelling to SpongeBob.