Identity

It's hard for someone in exile to find a category in which to place himself. Many times, the exile wants to distance himself from his past, its pains, and its baggage, yet is unwilling to fully embrace the present, whether or not it welcomes him or not. Exile is a dubious place to be. No matter how accepted you might be, those open arms can be withdrawn at any time, leaving you friendless in a hostile land. So, for the exile, life, dreams, possibilities, and future are all constantly weighed against the approval, or disapproval, of their new communities as well as their old.
I have found it is even more precarious as a writer. I have to determine who to hawk my writings to. Who do I target? My people? My adopted brothers and sisters? Do I classify my work as Black or White? Does "American Literature" describe it? Do I have to write in my native language in order to be perceived as a Rwandan writer?
I write my stories and the people here say it's too African, while the Africans say it's not African enough. I am told I speak with a foreign accent by both sides. Not American enough, and too American. I try to diffuse the sentiment; to make them understand how it is to be in exile; to see the lens through which I am forced to view life.
So, I write a short story about a teacher- an African teacher- who came to America and focused on his work. He is an exile, haunted by past memories, yet trudging on forward at his task. He is successful and doesn't burden the system that has opened its doors to him. He shares the pains of both lands. He shares their identity. He is born and groomed in Africa, but he achieves his success and dies in America. Well, the story is written through his eyes, so he is not dead yet- but will be soon.
I want the story to appeal to both groups, but it does to none. It might lie in the story itself not having the qualities of a good story that I addressed in an earlier post, but I am wondering if it might not be a detachment of sorts by an audience unable to relate to the protagonist.
That's a poor example, besides the story just came out yesterday and only a handful of people have seen it, let alone commented on it. My poor mother thought it was true and almost had a heart attack - she should have read from the beginning where it clearly stated the subject's age as seventy-three. There have also been many exiles who write stories about it and who have garnered a lot of support, so it's not impossible to accomplish, but it's a lot harder than I previously thought.
I am up to the challenge, though, and I am working hard to project my experiences the way they impacted me. God-willing, I will accomplish that to the enjoyment of many...myself include.