Ethiopian-American Identity
Chillin out maxin’ in LeFrak City, Queens
Meet 3-year-old Marti. This picture of me was taken circa 1991 on my balcony in LeFrak City, Queens. For those of you who don’t know the NY landscape, LeFrak City was the hood: the quintessential New York City housing projects in the ‘80s and ‘90s, and I was the daughter of two Ethiopians who immigrated from Addis Ababa to Queens, NY in the late ‘80s. Upon their arrival, my folks were welcomed by the harsh realities of unbearable New York winters, incomprehensible New York accents, ungodly New York hip-hop, and unaffordable New York rent prices. They realized quickly that despite their cushy beginnings in Addis, New York offered a different reality for people like them.
Though I grew up in one of the most vibrant, diverse cities in the world, my life as a little child was very limited to Queens, NY and more precisely, to that balcony. And man, how I loved that balcony.
To an only child with strict house rules set by newcomers whose context of the local community was informed by watching terrifying Channel 5 news, that balcony was an outlet for me to connect with people. I have distinct memories of sitting there, waving my chubby little hands, and greeting anyone who passed by. I’d grin real wide and yell out, “hiiii, haw ahr you!!?” in my little Ethiopian accent to any passersby. (Yes, I was born in America and yes, I had an Ethiopian accent until I was 6, but that’s a story for another day.)
Some folks would stop, look up, smile, and wave back, while others would look up, completely ignore me, and continue on. Some were headed to, or coming home after a long day of work, others were strung out on crack, some were both but my 3-year-old self neither noticed these nuances nor cared. I just took in the accents, observed the doobies, durags, gold chains, high-top Nikes and Jordans, early 90’s hip-hop blasting from rectangular-shaped cars, and from my balcony, I admired a culture I was born into yet felt so far from.
In the picture above, I’m wearing my Ethiopian dress that a relative who was visiting us from Addis brought for me. This dress –along with my balcony—encapsulates how my journey started in so many ways: the child of East African immigrants living in Queens, NY and a people-lover who, to this day, experiences unadulterated joy from real sparks of human connection.