I am imagining a club that has existed for generations. My parents’ parents were members. My parents are members. The rules of the club are mystical and unfathomable to the un-initiate. They cannot be understood by the logical mind. The very idea of this club is based on shared history and faith. Now, I have been given the task of preserving these sacred traditions and handing them over to the next generation. It could be the plot of a cool fantasy movie; except in this case, the hero – my humble self – says “Whatever. I’m off to play Street Fighter”. End of movie.

That’s what’s happening with older cultures and traditions…sort of. They just can’t keep up with the new world. It’s change. Change will come no matter what. It’s relentless and brutal in it’s sweeping away of the old. Globalization, the internet…it’s happening. And, like anything else, there are pluses and minuses (is that really a word?). On one side you have the keepers of tradition, who maintain that holding on to the older ways, at least in some form, not only helps to preserve the connection to something bigger than oneself, but also helps to enrich one’s everyday life. On the other side you have those that believe that we have to focus on the things that encourage unity and integration in our societies. I am sure there are other views that are neither here nor there, but you get the picture.

Those, like my grandma, who fight to preserve “the old ways” can seem a bit out of touch with reality in their thinking sometimes, just like Snooki and the crew. They give many reasons to justify their proposition, but too often it comes down to something like “It’s been our way of life for generations” or “It’s part of who we are”. The younger, global-citizen types can simply scream back in unison “WE DON’T CARE!”. It’s been there for ages, so it should never pass away? I’m not convinced. The preservation of culture for culture’s sake just doesn’t cut it anymore. Sorry, grandma.

Still, while I might take issue with that argument, I do believe there is a lot for the old guard to fight for. When it comes to old ways, I think that the whole is definitely more than a sum of the parts. What makes up tradition? Shared ancestry, shared language, shared religion etc. All of these together are the building blocks for the structure of a given culture. The most important bit, in my humble opinion, is the “sharing”. Belonging to and living in accordance with these traditions is a communal way of life. It’s sharing with one-another; brotherhood. In other words, connection. I’d like to think that this connection is one of the big reasons people fight for tradition, even if that isn’t immediately obvious.

No question about it, shared tradition connects people – e.g. Apple Mac owners, for instance…stuffy bunch. Belonging to any club can add a “heaviness” to one’s social identity. It can give one’s life a grand purpose. This can also be true even when a member does not really believe in or subscribe to the core message of the group. Just being a member can make all the difference. Now, throw in family ties, history, time etc and you have a connection that is even more powerful. In a world that is getting increasingly impersonal, this is something that is important, at least to those who are aware of what would be lost if the group were to disintegrate i.e. grandma!

I was reading The hero with a thousand faces by Joseph Campbell, a fantastic book that explores the relevance of Mythology across a wide variety of peoples of the world. There’s so much about how these rituals and shared myth can shape individuals in a group. It is powerful stuff. In modern society, the idea of culture in some respects has been reduced to “character”, enlightenment (of the intellectual variety) and even infrastructure (See Capital of Culture). It has become more of a spectator sport or something of the mind, rather than something that one participates fully in, body and soul. That deep connection is missing.

Modern society therefore seems sterile in this respect. Everything seems to be based more on reason and logic. What about reverence for one’s ancestors? Where are the masquerades that chase kids all over the place? What about the rites of passage that chldren pass through to become adults? What about the periodical gatherings of the people to celebrate…I don’t know…the full moon?! In the absence of these acts that allowed people to develop deep bonds with each other, what are we left with…Facebook?

At the end of the day, there has to be a balance. I am unique as an individual, inasmuch as I am a member of a group. I can be part of the new world and still keep the useful stuff from my ancestral culture (though not the language. Once again, sorry grandma). In fact, I fear that one’s cultural identity can sometimes be used as an excuse for refusing to assimilate. It can be used as a wedge between oneself and one’s current environment and neighbors. So, it is important to see the bigger picture. What one loses in the way of bonds within a smaller group, one gains in the way of bonds to a much larger group. This sort of thing might not bode well for the survival of my little tribe, but it could be good for me, and perhaps the world, as long as I don’t lose myself.

I think a lot of these older cultures are going to become extinct. Even so, I still think that trying to pass on the core values of my culture to my children would be a worthwhile activity…if I knew what they were. Instead, I will pass on the lessons I have learnt in life. No doubt, some of those will be traceable back to my ancestors. So, in that sense, maybe I’ll be passing on my cultural identity to my kids afterall.

When I think about cultural identity, images of people in traditional African garb involved in some sort of ceremony immediately come to mind. These pictures are indicative of the associations that have been made in my mind around the concepts of culture and tradition. This particular set of images may be related to my particular background, but it’s the symbolism that is important here. What these images suggest to me is the idea that one’s cultural identity links back to something deep, almost primal or instinctual, within us as humans. What I am trying to get at is more than just a set of traits that define a people; but more the in-depth and often elaborate rituals and behaviors that tie a group of people together…the sort of stuff that is not easily accessible in modern society.

I am speaking (writing, if you insist on nitpicking) as somone who should have a direct line of connection to my cultural heritage. Both my parents are from the same Ethnic Group in West Africa. They both speak the language, and are fully familiar with the customs. Sadly, we (meaning myself and my two brothers…me in the middle, like Malcolm) do not speak the language, at least not at a respectable level; and are only generally aware of said customs. It was certainly not a priority for me when I was growing up. I liked video games better.

There were a lot of old customs in full-swing all around me…even in the midst of all the western influences that were making their way into our lives as we got older. There was religion – churches on every corner in the town I grew up, it seemed to me – but ancient customs still stood. In fact, when it really comes down to it, tradition still trumps religion. For instance, one might get married in a church, but would still have to do the traditional wedding ceremony – always first – according to the customs of the bride’s family. I personally have dreaded this practice since I hit puberty and realized I might have to get married. In fact, it is the chief reason I haven’t returned home since I got married while I lived in England years ago. Angry in-laws are waiting for me to come and properly “claim” my bride. I fear they have scouts at ports of entry into the country. It’s best to avoid returning altogether.

As children, adults in the family tried to make us aware of the dangers of not knowing where one was from, of not being able to communicate in anything other than the White Man’s language. There were stories of times during the civil war when being able to speak your language and/or understand local customs was the only proof that you were not the enemy…thus sparing yourself from a violent death at the hands of your own. While tales of the war were cool – one particularly juicy bit involved my uncle, then a child, being dressed-up as a girl to avoid the “draft” – we weren’t too worried about this situation ever arising for us; not in modern times. In fact, most attempts to learn about our tribal customs as we were growing up were driven by the fear of “Mama-Sisi”…my grandma on my dad’s side.

Sisi had a habit of turning up at our house from the village unannounced, causing all kinds of issues. She always seemed to be grumpy when I was a child…the perfect human expression of a wet blanket. We mostly tried to avoid her…like the plague. However, we knew that at some point during her visit we would inevitably be summoned to her abode (the guest room at our house) to be judged for our sins – our lack of appreciation of our culture. This experience was always nerve-racking…about as much fun as water-boarding. While I can say I gradually got on better with my grandma as I got older and could see through her “attitude”, I can never look back with any fondness at those meetings. They were, without exception, horrible.

Each encounter usually started with a paragraph or two in our mother-tongue, which we would invariably fail to understand. Then she would switch to English and proceed to lecture us extensively. She often called my parents in to get a share of the tongue-lashing for failing to pass this knowledge onto us (if they weren’t smart enough to make themselves scarce once she started). She also berated them for being so westernized themselves. They weren’t exactly happy about her manner of imparting wisdom, but they got the point; and often put in a decent effort to get us on the right path after each…er…pep-talk. They would try to speak the native tongue a little bit more, buy some books to educate us, etc. It never lasted. Everyone reverted to type after a few days.

I knew – then and now – that such attempts were doomed from the outset because culture is not something that can be transferred in a such a half-hearted manner. It has to be lived; it has to be embodied. There’s just no way to do it part-time. I had friends who were much more fluent in their tribal tongues and traditions. Each had been brought up with their parents instilling these ideas pretty much from birth. Not so with us. My parents tranferred their own unique set of values to us – effortlessly, I might add. In fact, they get extremely high marks for that. As a adult, I am still surprised how much of them I have in me. This, however, is not the same thing as being brought up with the values of “the tribe” unless the tribe is just mummy and daddy. I guess that is the key. My parents are members of their tribe, but it doesn’t pervade their lives enough for them to be natural extensions of it. Interesting…

For my grandma, her culture was a significant part of who she was, or who she thought herself to be. The demise of the tribe = the demise of her. This is a BIG deal. It’s the reason why ideas like these are so powerful. Tie in the identity of the people to the identity of the structure. They will fight till the death to protect it. My grandma was (still is) trying to preserve herself in a way, by preserving the idea of her tribe. She expected that idea to pass on to her offspring so they would hold it in the same manner, and then pass it on to their offspring. And so on, till infinity. That’s the idea. She failed to do that.

For better or worse, the power of my father’s cultural identity isn’t as strong with him as it was with his parents; probably because he’s a surgeon who rips people’s throats open for a living. Whatever the reason is, this condition is a lot worse with my generation. It’s a safe bet that my kids will be even further away from their ancestral legacy in that respect. I caught my 3-year old son singing “All the single ladies…all the single ladies” with a big smile on his face the other day. Strange. Such leanings raise serious questions that I won’t try to answer here. Has the tribe lost me and my Beyonce-singing child? What’s the big deal anyway?

More on that next time.