Black, on Both Sides

Living between my Nigerian and African-American identities

I shoved my research notebook in my desk drawer and slammed it closed.

I’d just completed my dissertation study. I should have been eager to sift through the pages, but that notebook was the last thing I wanted to see.

The year before, I’d traveled to Detroit to purchase it.

I barely recognized Woodward Avenue. No longer decorated with broken streetlights and vacant lots, it was now well-lit and laced with high-end stores, modern buildings, and farm-to-table restaurants. The media called it “an urban renewal,” but Detroit natives knew it was gentrification.

“I can get out here,” I told my Uber driver. He dropped me off in front of Shinola Detroit. Once inside, a white, thin store clerk whose brunette hair was tousled into a messy bun attempted to give me a tour. Her smile was perfectly plastered on her face as if she’d drawn it on with pencil.

“Welcome, what can I help you with today? We have our new collection over — ”

“I’m looking for your pink notebook. I saw it online… the small one, not the large one,” I told her.

“Oh, right this way!” She cheerfully walked me over to a large glass case that housed an expansive notebook…