I am that mixing pot I hear about less and less. No wonder different types of people respond to me as though I am one of their own, in some ways I am. Very African—no surprise there. The South African makes me proud as does the affiliation with nomadic east Africans because they have had a lot thrown at them and they keep going. I am mostly of the South and East with some Western and Northern and that arrangement is indeed a surprise and wonderful. What better gift that to find I am continental African? Today’s refinements continued to show an appreciable Arabic and Mesopotamian relationship. I must say though who those or that relative was I am totally uncertain. It is a delicious mystery. There was Sicilian this time—huh—some Balkan and nomadic Mongolian … more scratches of the head.
What I love about these tests is I could spin about in the mirror, looking for stereotypes of one type or another maybe reflect on my wide by flat ass but instead I’ve gone to the history books hitting them very hard. I see the South African’s were taken over for a time by Arabic speakers as well as the Portuguese. I see through history books that ethnicity is kind of a joke and invasions blurred geographic boundaries and the people within, stirring the pot and stirring the pot and stirring the pot some more until a South African with Italian/Portuguese blood, layered over with Moroccan/Arab some Balkan and even smidgens of India and Polynesia is possible.
I think these DNA tests are beautiful and spiritually opening though far from perfected. They verify that we are a blended folk and that we should respect that from within ourselves and by all means we should respect other cultures. Who knows—perhaps they are our own? These days culture seems a lot more tangible that race, so I must return to that writer’s chair, hopefully with fresh and innovative notions.
