Common Threads: Part I with Kahnma Karnga on Coming to America

by Erica McMillan

Kahnma Karnga is a bad-ass. A survivor re-creating herself amongst civil war, cultural differences, and racial divides. Saying no to cancer, yes to self-love, and fuck-it to self-limiting consciousness. Rediscovering African values in her island communities. Maintaining her sanity through music. A dynamic singer/songwriter with local Oahu music groups, the West African Dance Band, Jamarek, and her newly formed African pop band, The Kahnma Experience. This month in Common Threads, I invite you to share insights and reflections from Kahnma’s world in this two-part interview (cause there was too much good stuff to fit into one!)

EM: So tell me, You started your life in Liberia what do you remember from your childhood there? And how do you feel that experience shaped you?

KK: I‘m super grateful for my childhood in Liberia, first of all. I read this article somewhere that said your subconscious develops between the ages of zero and six, and I spent those years in Liberia. I lived there until I was 12 years old, and then I came to the states. I feel like my subconscious developed in Africa. So I see the world a lot differently from the people in this society that I live in now because we have different worlds, you know. So it was very interesting to have these two world views as I was growing up into a woman. I feel like that has allowed me to navigate life with a little more clarity because there’s more perspective, I guess, to be able to make decisions.

I remember playing a lot. Before the civil war, I remember playing from sunup to sundown, you know, outside all the time. Then at some point, the war came, and we left our home and started migrating to different places to get away from the rebels until we came to the states. In those war memories, there are little scars. Sometimes I feel like I remember something, but I think it’s a dream until I hear it. My sister will repeat the same story, and I’ll be like, “Oh, that shit was real?” So those memories are a little tender. I guess I choose when I want to reach in there. But those weren’t the best memories of Liberia.

EM: How did your life change when the war came?

KK: Oh, everything changed. You know, just like in our current situation with the COVID-19 pandemic and with everything going on, I felt similar energies. When everything is so still and silent, the uncertainty now feels like wartime. It felt like back home when the war was coming. You knew, because they were talking about stuff happening on the radio. The adults were gathered in little corners and talking, and it just felt like something is coming, but you don’t know what it is. It was just this weird feeling, and I’ve been feeling some of that same stuff now.

Then the war came, and everything changed. You go from one day, living a peaceful life to missiles flying over your head. I still don’t think I’ve processed it all the way. All these years later, when I have conversations where I concentrate on talking about the war, then I’m like, ‘Oh, shit, I went through a lot of stuff,’ but I suppressed it.

EM: Did the adults share with you what was going on at the time?

KK: I feel like everybody was just uncertain. In Africa, everybody talk politics. You know, even the children talk politics. But also in Africa, children have their place. When adults are talking they don’t engage the children in these adult conversations like that. So there was never a conversation where anybody said, “Hey, this is about to happen, and this is what we’re going to do.” It just started happening, and we experienced it. We didn’t have social media. We didn’t have the same communication systems as we do now.

EM: What part of Liberia were you in?

KK: I was in a small town, in Buchanan. Buchanan is the second biggest city in Liberia. We moved from there to Monrovia, the capital city, because it was closer to the government’s side, and there was supposed to be more protection on the government side. But, you know, eventually, the rebels invaded the government side, too.

EM: So how is it that you ended up coming to America?

KK; My father is a preacher in the country, and he was connected with a lot of priests and the Catholic Church. He was very well known and respected, so my father was a target in the war. The rebels would come into the town and say, “who’s the leader in this town?” So everybody would point-out my house. There were so many incidences where they came to kill him, then something would happen, and they wouldn’t kill him. The Catholic Church saw that happening and created a way to get him and his family out of the country. They got him out first to the Ivory Coast, the neighboring country, and then a few months later, they kind of snuck the rest of us out, of Liberia, late at night in some car. We stayed in Ivory Coast for about six or seven months before we came to the States. My oldest sister was already living in New Jersey. She did all the paperwork and funded us to get here and stay with her.

EM: How big was your family?

KK: Well, my family is really big. My parents together have twelve children. I had three sisters already living in the states, and then when we came, it was myself, two more sisters, a brother and a nephew. My parents had opportunities to come, but they decided to stay in Africa with the church people because the community really depended on them.

EM: How did you view America before you came here? Was it what you expected?

KK: Me as a little girl thinking about America, it was almost like heaven. The American propaganda machine is very strong. I literally thought America was in the sky because I was a little girl, and you got on a plane to go to America. I imagined the streets were paved with gold because that’s how it was talked about at the time.

When I came to America, we got dropped off at JFK Airport and drove through New York. This is when I saw my first homeless person and it was sobering. I didn’t expect that because it’s America and the streets were supposed to be paved with gold, right?

As far as any kind of structural development, I had never seen anything like that before. The buildings, city lights, and going over the bridge was really amazing to me.

EM: What were you most surprised by in the beginning?

KK: The norms weren’t my norm. It was the cultural differences that were shocking. One thing that surprised me as a little girl then was how the white kids spoke to their parents on TV! I felt like the freedom that children had on some levels here to just be bold with adults like that was shocking for me.

EM: The culture shock, how did you cope with the transition and being away from your family?

KK: Being away from the family was hard because we were away from our family in war and didn’t have communication with them. There was a lot of adjusting and adapting that had to happen very quickly—a lot of detaching, you know. I’m a political junkie now because we would watch CNN all day for any news snippet on Liberia, just to give us some idea about what was going on with our family. All-day I would sit there watching it, and as I’m watching CNN I was absorbing all the news, and I became very interested in politics because of that.

EM: What was it like for you when you started school?

KK: School was interesting. Of course, I was different. I was the African kid. I looked like the African kid, I sounded like the African kid, and kids are kids, they tease the things they don’t understand.

I went to school in New Jersey. So the school that I went to was mixed. It was a diverse school. The white kids would ask me questions about Africa. They would ask me about the animals and my life there. The black kids asked me different questions, it was like, do you have a tail? Do you live in a tree? It was really interesting. As an adult, I’ve analyzed that a lot, and I have a lot of perspective. The reasons all lead back to white supremacy in some way. The disconnect from my Africanness to the black children was alarming to me, and the interest in my Africanness to the white children was alarming to me.

EM: Can you share more about your thoughts on how their reactions relate to white supremacy?

KK: Well, I feel like it relates to privilege, you know. A lot of the children I was around at the time, they had opportunities to get out, travel, see other places, and actually form an opinion that’s relevant to different places and not just something that’s made up. I feel like a lot of the black children didn’t have that kind of opportunity to get out like that, so their only view of Africa was what was on the television, and what was on TV wasn’t the greatest view of Africa. So they didn’t have the opportunity to really expand and had a more narrow view of the world. Then you’re meeting somebody that’s from Africa that looks like you, but they’re different. So you’re asking these kinds of questions because you haven’t really had the opportunity to see it any other way.

EM: How did you deal with those differences in culture within your social circles?

KK: Well, accepting that I was different was good, but, as a kid, you want to fit in. So I really did pray to talk like the other kids and fit in. On a deeper level, there’s this thing black people say that we have to code-switch. So, code-switching for black people in America is when you go into the world, into a white establishment, into work, into school, and all of these things. You code-switch to be able to function in that world so people can relate to you. And then you go back to the black world, and you are yourself. So there’s this level of code-switching that black people do to fit in white world. And for me, as an African, I code-switch twice. I code-switch to be African-American and I code-switch to fit in the white world.

EM: Sounds like everybody experiences a different version of you.

KK: Yes, absolutely. I don’t know if there’s anybody, even my family, that gets the full version of me.

Singer/songwriter Kahnma Karnga looks out onto Kaimuki where she resides on Oahu,HI. (Ronen Zilberman photo HonoluluVibes.com)

EM: What are some of the ways you’ve experienced racism in your life?

KK: I think my first experience with racism was with colorism. I didn’t know I was dark-skinned until I came to America. Then there was this light skin, dark skin class thing, even within the black community that I had to overcome or at least be aware of in America. That wasn’t something that I dealt with in Liberia. In Liberia, I was always known as a cute girl. People would talk about how cute I was, talk about my dimples. So I thought I was a cute girl. But, they didn’t think I was cute when I came to America. So it was really fucked up to come to this place when your self-esteem is really high, and then people tell you ‘Well actually, you’re dark-skinned,’ and I was like, ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ But it had a lot to do with everything, you know. In the way, people saw me and the kind of dates that I was able to get, the kind of the guys that would like me. I thought things like, should I get lighter skin? Should I straighten the hair? All of these things were to fit in a little bit more, and they’re all microaggressions in racism. You don’t realize until you get a little older and be like, I never wanted to do any of those things. You just do those kinds of things to sort of fit in. It took a while to find who I am and be comfortable in this skin.

EM: What has it been like for you? Living with racism issues on a daily basis?

Well, like I said, there’s the colorism issues. That’s one thing. But, in the eyes of a racist, they don’t care if you’re black from Africa, black from Panama, or black from wherever. You just black and they don’t like you because you’re black. So. I’ve had to watch that for a long time. There’s so many feelings and a lot of anger out there, you know. Now, specifically around George Floyd’s murder, the protests, and the violence. I was this angry six years ago. I was out in the streets of Waikiki, me, and maybe five or six other people, and we were out there protesting for Black Lives Matter, and people were looking at us all crazy back then. I’ve been in these debates for so long that I think I got a little burnt out. Now I’m watching the world come together and protest this man’s death, and there’s a part of me that feels like, finally, people are waking up to this. Then there’s this part of me that feels like I don’t want to attach my emotions to this because I don’t feel like it’s going to sustain.

EM: Right. Sadly, it’s an old problem. Why do you think people are coming together over this issue now?

KK: Yeah, there are so many injustices, you know. Like Tamir Rice, he was 12 years old, and when the cop shot that little boy, I was ready to burn something down then, you know. I’m asking myself that same question, why now? Why is Mitt Romney kneeling with the Black Lives Matter people right now? Why are the NFL people saying, yes, Colin Kaepernick, you were right all this time. I didn’t watch the George Floyd video, but seeing anybody die on camera is traumatic. Yet, I don’t really think it’s about that one specific thing.

I do feel that we were already stressed in so many ways with the coronavirus, trying to figure out what we’re doing, and the uncertainty around people losing their jobs and their businesses. I feel like there’s a lot of anxiety and depression going on. People don’t know what to live for right now. So people are out there fighting for something, and they feel like this is worth fighting for.

But I’m asking myself, is this real? Because you don’t undo 400 hundred years of this kind of injustice in two weeks, you know. So I just hope that this continues and it actually leads to some real changes. I feel like our emotions get satisfied with all the sensationalism and speeches. For example, the mayor of D.C. that drew Black Lives Matter big on the street and I’m like, that’s great, but it’s performative.

I mean, let’s see some legislation. I want to see real reform. I want to see something that translates into a real something, you know. They’ve been talking about the black agenda lately with the election coming up. The black people are saying this is what we need, but is one of these presidential candidates saying, yes, we can provide this? Because I don’t want to give my vote to anybody who I don’t feel like is going to change anything for me, Democrat or Republican.

EM: Is there’s anybody out there right now who fits that criteria to be worthy of your vote?

KK: No, there’s nobody out there that makes me feel like that. It’s tough to say that because people think that if you don’t choose the other person, it’s a vote for the person they don’t like. I feel some ways about that because I don’t want to be pressured into anything. If we give our vote to Joe Biden, who is the Democratic candidate, just because he’s better than Donald Trump, what does he have to stand up for? Like, If he’s already got our vote, then what is he going to do for us? You know what I’m saying? I think there needs to be a third party. This choice between fear and hate in our two-party system isn’t a choice at all. I feel like there needs to be more communities. That we need to create neighborhoods again.

EM: What do you feel needs to happen to create sustainable changes for black people specifically?

KK: I’m a radical. In the 1920s, there was a radical that came out of that period, and his name was Marcus Garvey, and I am a Garvey-ite. This is an actual thing.

So Marcus Garvey was this Jamaican man who came to America in the 20s. He saw the power of black people and didn’t understand why black people were the least in this country when they had wealth, resources, and things. He dedicated himself to fighting racial injustice and was able to unite 13 million black people worldwide. His goal was to take Africans back to Africa. I’m radical in that way. In a way, that there’s no solution in the pollution. I don’t feel like there’s ever gonna be equality for black people in America because it’s built on centuries of inequality. It will be centuries of undoing. And black people do not have the capital. To get ahead on anything, you have to have wealth. You have to have equity. You have to have those things, and together, we don’t have it. It would have to be a combined thing with Africans in the diaspora and Africans in Africa uniting, for black people, to see some kind of equality and freedom. But, I do feel more equality here in Hawaii than I ever felt on the mainland.

Honestly, I watch what’s happening (outside Hawaii), but it’s not my reality. So there’s this weird thing that goes on inside me. Some years ago, I used to feel guilt. I felt survivor’s guilt being here. I go outside, see rainbows, and smell flowers in the air and the ocean. It’s difficult to be in an angry state of mind when you live in an environment like this. But, I have family that lives on the mainland. I have family who can be subjected to all of this, so there’s this survivor thing because I feel like I got out while everybody else is still back there.

Singer/songwriter Kahnma Karnga in Kaimuki, Hawaii. (Ronen Zilberman photo HonoluluVibes.com)

EM: So, how did you come to Hawaii, and why did you decide to stay here?

KK: I came to Hawaii on a whim. Hawaii was nowhere on my radar. I knew it existed, but I never thought I’d ever come to Hawaii. I was dating this guy, and he was airbrushing on the beach in Virginia. The winter was coming, and he said he wanted to go somewhere warm to airbrush. He asked me, ‘Do you want to go to Hawaii?’ I wasn’t doing anything, so I said yes! We came to Hawaii, and when the plane landed, I felt like everything inside of me just changed.

We spent a night in Makaha at a vacation rental, and I went across the street to Makaha Beach in Waianae. I went down the sandhill to the ocean, and I just stood there, this tiny little person in this vast ocean, and I just felt as small as a grain of sand and so minute in it all. There was just something about being a part of something greater. It felt real and connecting, and I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave the people. Oh my God, the people, the food, the beauty… after a year the guy was ready to go, and I said, ‘I don’t know if I can leave. I’m sorry.’ I’ve never said that Hawaii is where I’m going to be for the rest of my life, but 14 years later, here I am. I can’t leave.

EM: You’re a mother of two now, have you had conversations with your kids about racism?

KK: Yeah, it was tough. Some years ago, when all the racism thing started coming up a lot in the media and on social media, there was this pressure to talk to your black kids about racism. But like I said, our reality is different here in Hawaii. So part of me felt like ‘am I introducing something to them that’s gonna make them feel less than they are or cause unnecessary anxiety? Or is it necessary to have this conversation?’ Then I realized that they’re not going to be in Hawaii all their lives, you know. They’re going to, at some point, leave and interact with other people. So I have the conversation, but I have it in a real way, like if something is happening around us, then we can talk about it. But I don’t necessarily just bring it up like, ‘Let’s talk about racism today,’ you know. I don’t do that.

EM: How did they respond to those conversations?

KK: They’re pretty pro-black, both kids. Sometimes I think ‘Ooh, should I calm it down a little bit?’ There’s no filter with kids, you know. They see my experiences, they hear me talk to my friends about it. So they know it from my perspective, and you know, I’m pretty tough on racism.

EM: What do you think we can learn from Liberian culture here in America?

KK: Oh, man. Liberians know how to have a good time. Even thru war, we always found a way to live life to the fullest possible, to find something to laugh about. We’re really joyful people. Liberians are a lot like the Hawaiians, you know, as far as the family, the ohana vibe. We feed everybody, we act as more of a community. I think African culture, in general, can teach a lot about how to be a community. In America, there’s this individualistic way of surviving. You have to be about yourself in America to survive. In Africa, you have to be about everybody, you have to be about the village. I feel like a little bit of village life mentality in the West can help things. After living in America for so many years I had to come to Hawaii to rediscover a lot of those things.

EM: Mahalo for sharing Kahnma

Check back in mid-July for part 2 of our interview with Kahnma as she speaks about music, mothering, and surviving cancer.

Check out more interviews with women you should know from our monthly Common Threads series:

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