Aja and Aziz 

Aja (Mum of Aziz (pictured age 7)

I was born in Newcastle in 1972, and in 1978 I went back with my parents to Gambia. When we arrived in Gambia the spoken language was difficult for me to understand because I could only speak English. Two or three years after we arrived in Gambia my parents got divorced: My father took another wife, and my mum could not accept that another woman was more important than her. So, mum left my dad and we moved to my grandmother’s house in 1982.

At the time, my mother was working as a typist at the American Embassy and the Embassy decided to send her to Georgia, in the United States of America to study for one year. At that time, she met Edmond Richmond, who was a Caucasian professor of African Studies. My mum told Edmond that she had two children back home, in Africa. Edmund told my mum that he was in love with her and wanted to marry her, but my mum did not want to get married: She felt that she had to get her life back together first. They both agreed that my mum should go to Gambia to collect me and my brother as we were still living with my grandmother. We were both suffering because there was a family division, and nobody cared about us except for my grandmother. We struggled to get food to eat. One day my brother was sick, and my mum had to take him to the hospital. There was a lady at the hospital that recognised my mother. She said to my mother “If you don’t take your children away you will lose them”. In August 1984 my brother and I went quietly to the airport, got on board of the airplane and my dad called the police. It was quite a scene, but we still managed to fly to Atlanta City in Georgia.

I grew up in Atlanta City, in Georgia. It was the 80s and America was more segregated that it is now, but we were living far away from the City and Ed was protecting us. I went to middle school when I was twelve and at that time the only other race there was black. I could not talk properly as my command of the English grammar was not very good. One day I asked Ed “What is Black booty?” Ed said “In America they like to call people that are different a lot of names. You are going to hear a lot of names because of being Black.” I could not understand why they were saying “African booty scratcher”. It was so mean! I attended Middle School for one year and then at the end of 1985 I started High School and in the summer we used to go on a holiday to Florida or to Lakeland, where Ed’s parent’s home was. The next thing I was called was “nigger!”, “blacky, blacky, blacky!” and “blacky booty!” and I could not understand the meaning of it. We talked about how the African Americans got to America and their history. Ed told me about slavery. He said to me “If they call you this, don’t return it to them”. At home we always talked about Gambia. How we grew up. Ed loved African food and I used to cook Domoda for him, as it was his favourite meal. Domoda is peanut butter stew. Ed changed our lives. As a white man he influenced my personality more than anybody else.

Everything used to be fine. Ed loved us and I loved Ed more than my real dad, but my mum wanted to have more children, but Ed could not have children. They got divorced, my mum remarried and then we moved away to live with her. Ed married another Black lady and afterwards we could only saw Ed at Thanksgiving, Christmas and during the holidays. Because of that I felt that that I could not focus any more, that something was missing from my life, so I decided to go back to Gambia to get to know my dad and family, to have closure.

After 2 years in Gambia I returned to the United States and went back to school to finish my studies. I started working and then I met the man that I was planning to marry. He was from Senegal. By then I had stopped going to see Ed. I was just having telephone conversations with him, and I would only see him during the holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. His wife cried, she tried to separate us. Then Ed retired and moved to live in Carolina with his wife.

I had no one in the UK. I had been here before, on a holiday it was summertime and I loved the way you can move here without a car. I loved the freedom. I travelled to Leeds first, then Croydon, Crawley, Birmingham and then Peckham and East Ham in London. Initially, while we were staying with a friend in South London I found a job with an Estate Agent, Robert Allan Homes, at Victoria Park Road in Hackney. Later, I moved in with my cousin in Hackney. We later moved to live in emergency accommodation in Hackney. I found a new temporary job and joined a scheme that helped people back into work in order to get a permanent job. That is where I met Aziz’s dad who was Gambian too.

I raised Aziz as a single parent. Aziz is an interesting child. He is intelligent, very playful, and talkative. He likes games and is funny, full of life and very outspoken. My worry is the way society is now. In Hackney I do not see much racism, but some boys are stabbing and killing others. My oldest son is not involved in that because he does not go out much. Aziz is not like that: He is adventurous, he likes to go out. That is why I am always at Gillette Square, because I worry about him. I would like to take him to Gambia for a couple of years so that he realises that he is privileged to be here and hopefully he becomes aware of his identity. He is a gentle being and but is he is also big and tall and that is how they are going to portray him and see him. My fear is not just of the judgement of society but also of the judgement of himself. He may think that he is not good enough. That is why I try to teach him about his identity. One day he was listening to Bob Marley, and I asked Aziz “Where did you hear that song?” He said “They were playing it at school, and I really like it. Listen to the words mum. He is talking about us”.