In the few years I’ve lived in America as a Kenyan, I've developed unique respect for all immigrants, especially the African migrant. And as we end the month of June, a month where we celebrate so much diversity, from Pride🌈 to immigrant heritage, I especially want to celebrate all the dreamers who inform and weave the fabric of this Kulture. I celebrate those who work to put food on our tables, and the ones who provide care, especially during these COVID-19 times. 

Over the years, I have witnessed the danger of the single-story told about the African immigrants. A story that was so shallow, it didn’t give room for someone like me to exist. In this single story, it is easier to be accepted as a victim of a lot of imagined suffering than as a capable, smart Kenyan woman. And that the only acceptable response for living in America is gratitude! But the bottom line is migration takes many forms and regardless of why we migrate, many of us are simply escaping what Chimamanda calls “choicelessness”.

My experiences as a migrant reshaped my attitude towards life. In America, I am simply Black, and while I’ve always been an unapologetically proud Kikuyu woman, my blackness in America was reduced to one thing - a race! This identity came with added responsibilities that were unspoken and loaded with racial burdens. These experiences have forced me to confront my own identity and reflect on who I really am and where I come from.

I’m likely the first Kenyan many Americans in my social and professional circles know personally - probably the only African. My heaviest burden has been standing firmly in my identity as a proud Kenyan woman and removing myself from anyone’s discomfort or assumptions of my blackness. Mind you, I’m the kind of Kenyan who doesn’t run marathons or claim President Obama as an uncle (love him though). So by simply showing up, I knew I was creating an alternative story, for myself and any other black African girls my American friends would later meet. The kind of story that gave permission and flexibility, without room for victims in need of heroes, but of a human being who deserves respect and kindness.

The language of migration is different based on your country of origin. The irony is not lost on me that most Westerners who’ve migrated to African countries are known as explorers, missionaries, or expatriates. These migration privileges are afforded and awarded based on your country of origin and it’s this single story that reduces the African migrant’s experience and expects them to stay grateful and never complain about the injustices and hardships that come with living abroad.

Perhaps one day we will live in a world where Africans are freed from that single-story. Free from living in fear or in the shadows because of their immigration status. Where we don’t have to learn each and every racist insult that is passed casually as a comment or jokes at our expense. It’s exhausting and mentally challenging to constantly live in this reality and I know so many who have struggles like me with depression as a result of these identity struggles.

That’s why I created Washa Candles, to celebrate and remind myself who I am and where I come from. To tell more stories of the Kenya I grew up in. The candles are my way of keeping my light shining bright in the midst of a lot of darkness.

I pour each candle with all my homesick friends in mind, especially those who can’t go back home. This is your reminder that Home is closer than You think - it is in the aroma and flavour of our food, it’s in the languages we speak, the afromusic we dance to, it’s the prints and beads we wear, the curls in our hair and in each and every African name (which they must learn to pronounce correctly). Cheers to anyone who has had the courage to migrate and recreate their sense of belonging and identity. Please remember that Your identity is not lost in the migration - far from it - it’s something you take with you everywhere you go.

Your identity is your light so please, shine it brightly 🕯Stay lit🔥

“…we need Africa to speak for itself after a lifetime of hearing Africa spoken about by others.”

- Chinua Achebe