Generational Trauma

Dear Angels,

My journey as a human and artist in this era has been deeply intertwined with understanding generational trauma. Not merely as an abstract concept, but in the tangible ways it has shaped me, my family, my culture, and my people.

Raised in the bustling, yet impoverished neighborhoods of Lagos, Nigeria, I was a child of a lower-class family. Here, a prevailing narrative cast Africans as inherently inferior, uneducated, and fated for poverty. This bleak gospel, I believed, for it mirrored my reality: born into poverty, thus destined to remain so.

However, a revelation awaited me in the annals of our history. Prior to the 18th century, the concept of poverty was nearly alien to us. The Igbo people, my ancestors, were maestros in agriculture and herbology, and skilled in metallurgy. Each day was named in homage to our natural prowess. Our proficiency ensured food, health, and prosperity. Our deep knowledge of every herb and plant in the forest meant we had a natural remedy for nearly every illness that plagued our communities, and those that couldn’t be cured naturally were seen as karmic justice. Of course, this wasn’t always the case as our understanding of the world was ever evolving but you get my point.

The idea of poverty quickly loses its hold when every one is fed, sheltered and healthy. In fact it was part of my culture for a man to take multiple wives so he could bear enough children to ensure he had enough hands for both the planting and the harvesting seasons.

Education then wasn’t institutional but traditional, passed down through generations. This was done through having children sit by the firelight as the Elders would share stories of their lives woven into mystical tales that not only captivated the young listeners but also infusing wisdom and vital life lessons into them.

This was our way…until the ‘Fire Nation’ attacked. Sorry, I meant the European’s.

They brought a whole lot with them but most importantly they brought with them the concept of poverty.

Now, you might wonder how this ties into generational trauma. Bear with me.

Colonialism inflicted profound trauma on countless African tribes and nations, leaving scars unhealed for generation after generation. In our modern context, we seek therapy for heartbreak or medical aid for physical injuries. Contrast this with the unimaginable pain of our ancestors: families torn apart, brutal assaults, and the erasure of entire cultures. I’m not going to go into much detail but I urge you to do some digging. No, read actual books and avoid the movies for now.

Imagine this, a father’s world crumbling in the blink of an eye. His son, the light of his life, vanishes into the unknown, chained up and swallowed by a cruel fate. His daughter, a symbol of innocence, suffers unspeakable horrors at the hands of strangers, more beast than men. In a desperate bid to protect, he fights, only to have his limbs savagely torn from the rest of his body, leaving him a broken shell, marooned in a sea of shock and disbelief. He awakens to a dawn of desolation; his once vibrant village, now a haunting echo of its former self. The joyous cacophony of group cheers and dance has fallen silent, the innocent laughter of daughters returning from the river, a haunting absence. His wives, no where to be found. His brothers, his uncles, all spirited away, leaving behind only whispers of their fate – tales of distant lands from which they would never return. As I write, tears blur my vision, for the agony is too profound, too vast to fully comprehend. This nightmare was not just the plight of a single soul; it was the shared agony of billions over centuries.

The trauma experienced wasn’t just personal; it was collective, echoing through generations.

My ancestors were so broken down that their last fight, their very last brain cell was solely focused on survival. A fact that astounds me even today. The resilience of the black race, surviving despite such calamities, is nothing short of miraculous. We are a miracle.

Let’s rewind back to the topic at hand…

Generational trauma…

So, what about generational trauma? It’s a chasm between those who directly suffered these atrocities and their descendants who inherit this legacy. This trauma manifests not just psychologically, but socio-economically too.

Do you understand the level of rage that runs through our veins as black people? Why we are so ready to be violent? This isn’t baseless aggression; it’s the unaddressed fury from centuries of injustice. Our ancestors’ oppressors are long gone-Unalive, leaving us to grapple with this bitter legacy that many still don’t know about.

Today, this rage is palpable. It surfaces as violence within our communities, misguided discipline, and misplaced anger. We hurt and abuse our children in the name of discipline. We kill and war in the name of order. What are we becoming? or better yet, Who are we becoming?

This is how trauma perpetuates itself, inflicting pain as a misguided form of self-soothing, blinding us to our true potential and intellect not just as African’s but as Humans made in the image of the creator.

I spent a whole year processing the immense rage that lived within me and Oh my Gosh! I can tell you this was by far the most painful experience I have ever undertaken in my life…in complete isolation. The anger within me was hot, sharp, biting and incredibly bitter. Once I started the process, I simply couldn’t stop. A year later, emerging on the other side, it felt like I liberated not just myself, but my entire lineage. I chose to sit down and feel all the pain everyone in my family was running away from while unconsciously inflicting it on others around them. The patterns were there for me to see and to choose different.

I can’t sit here and tell you gaining this awareness made me wealthy, but what I can tell you is that without this pain living in me, I can see life much more clearly and my ancestors have been rewarding me for embarking on this journey.

Now, I share my wisdom to you.

With pure love,

Chu

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash