‘Another Side of Africa’

That was the name of the presentation I gave my year 6 class after returning from a summer in Nigeria. Having spent the entirety of my school career being bombarded with questions about Nigeria/Africa (such as: do you live in huts? Do you have electricity? How do you travel from Nigeria to school every day?) I thought it would be nice to give them a glimpse of the Africa I knew. To show that there was more to the continent than deserts, war and starving children in Water Aid adverts that let flies rest idly on their faces. To show that there were other stories to be told.

In 2009, Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche gave a great TED talk called the “The Danger of a Single Story”. During it she talked about how, too often, we are fed a single narrative about a person or place. Consequently, stereotypes are formed, which aren’t necessarily untrue, but rather, incomplete depictions. Thus, Adiche argued that it is impossible to engage properly with a people or place without engaging with all its stories.

In the talk she gave three key dangers of following a single narrative:

1. It robs people of dignity.
2. It makes recognition of equal humanity difficult.
3. It emphasises how different we are, rather than how we are similar.

An obvious macroscale example of this is the Western world’s depiction of Africa. How is it that a continent made up of 54 nations which holds a population larger than all of Europe, North America and Oceania combined, is often mistaken for a single country ¹ that is full of corruption, poverty and safari life?

This narrow perspective has hugely influenced not just the perception of the continent, but the way in which individuals who come from there are treated, especially when in the diaspora.

As well as single stories being harmful on a macroscale, they can be very limiting on a more personal, individual level.

For example, for years I was fed a single narrative about dyslexia; that it was a disorder that caused reading and writing difficulties, limiting a person’s intellect. Although according to the British Dyslexia Association, the learning difficulty can be found in people of all intellectual abilities², the only examples I had seen were of classmates who had lessons with younger years and performed at a low academic level.

Over time, I discovered other narratives about dyslexia, and realised that my own personal struggles in school could be one of them. However, like I had previously done, the staff at my school found dyslexia to be synonymous with under performance. So, any attempts at getting enquiries into my learning difficulties were halted by the A*s on my manuscript. It didn’t matter that I used to spend over 2 hours on 30-minute assignments, or that I would pretend I had a cough in English class to mask my inability to read aloud fluently. The story that dyslexia caused students to have lower grades restricted my access to support and resources that could have eased my academic burden.

It was an uphill battle, but everything was eventually sorted out. By learning other narratives about dyslexia, I was able to gain a more balanced school life and improve my approach to reading and writing. So much so that, in spite of my difficulties, they are now two of my favourite pastimes.

Stories matter. Many stories matter. They have been used to debilitate and dehumanise people, but they can also be used to empower and restore dignity. Stories can limit people, but they can also liberate, providing access and support to individuals, enabling them to thrive.

Stories are important. And it is the understanding of many narratives that allows us to fully engage with others, as well as unlock personal potential.