Encountering Black Joy
for the first time

Written by Delali Amegah, edited by Karini Viranna
Photos provided by Delali Amegah

But the depiction of what Black Joy was supposed to look and sound like, also felt restricted and told from a white-gaze agenda. A mindless scroll on Youtube led me to some archival footage from the 1998 World Cup, won by the French team, whose supporters were proud of them for representing (of course, only after winning the Cup) the “France Black Blanc Beurre” (which is in itself, such a problematic term, but that’s for another essay). That version of Black Joy felt incredibly superficial. Black people only had value when they brought white people joy by winning in a competitive sport, or when Black people are singing and dancing, or making fun of themselves.

Sincerely bored, tired, and over it!

 The teenage Afropean girl who survived growing up in predominantly white spaces was yearning for a type of Black Joy that was serving Black people and Black people only. For Black people, by Black people. 

SEEING BLACK JOY FOR THE FIRST TIME

I won’t lie to you, I am a lover girl, I am a sucker for romance, especially on screen. I’m ashamed to write it, but I always ate with quickness, all the Nicholas Sparks books and movies - The Notebook being one of them, obviously (in my defense, I was very, very young). Then I grew up and realised that Noah and Allie’s relationship was toxic and over glamorized so I moved on to the Before Sunrise trilogy by Richard Linklater as my number one love
story. It was more realistic and had that French-American touch to it, but still, both protagonists were white, and my 20-something-self, despaired at these white boy-white girl, white boy-Black girl, and Black boy-white girl mainstream love stories. It felt as if romance on screen was for white people and those in interracial relationships. “Where are my people?” I thought, with Dr Umar’s voice in the back of my head (I know I know, but you gotta give it to
him, he is funny).

Until I discovered the gem that was Love Jones. Oh boy. The first time I saw true Black Joy was when Darius performed spoken word for Nina. I don’t think you could understand. I did not watch the movie. I was in the movie, sat next to Nina, drinking every word from Darius, from his song “Brother to the Night” (A Blues for Nina)” to his future lover, Nina.

Filmed and also set in the late 90s, Love Jones follows the story of two young Black people, both creatives, Nina, a photographer, and Darius, a writer, who navigate the dating scene in the backdrop of the city of Chicago. It wasn’t just Black love that was depicted in the film, it was also Black culture showcased without the stereotypes of Black culture. None of the usual “Black struggle”, or “Black trauma” - just two creative people in their twenties, who
happen to be Black, navigating love, dating and their careers, with the support and care of their Black friends. What made me feel Black joy from this movie, was that both Nina and Darius were humans. Race wasn’t at the center, Black people were just people who happened to be Black and falling in love. Since Love Jones, I’m happy to have seen a push for more non-stereotypical Black romance on screen, such as The Photograph by Stella Meghie, Sylvie’s Love by Eugene Ashe, and more recently, Rye Lane by Raine Allen Miller.

Hearing Black Joy For The First Time

Picture this: It’s a warm summer night in 2022. I’m cozy in bed as I scroll through Instagram, until my eyes zoom in on these two gorgeous Black girls behind a DJ booth. They were playing a type of beat I had never heard of before, but I somehow felt deeply connected too. Although I understood none of the lyrics, I felt as if the beat was somehow feeding my soul. I got to my feet and danced the heck out of my body, filling my bedroom with energy. I replayed that video so many times. The two girls were a DJ duo called TxC, playing “Iyamemeza” by DJ Sumbody, Drip Gogo and The Lowkeys, an Amapiano sound.

To this day, I still go back to my “Amapiano fav beats” collection on Instagram to replay it. The thing is, when you live in a predominantly white area, they think Afrobeats and even sometimes Latino sounds, are enough to cater to any Black demographic. No, no, no, NO! I needed more, and my fellow Black people deserved more. “Amapiano” is a genre of house music that emerged from South Africa. “Amapiano” meaning “the pianos” in the Zulu language, gained popularity on TikTok and Instagram and was quickly adopted by African singers and producers in the diaspora and beyond (I heard India joined the chat with “India-Amapiano”?! To be investigated). Through social media, we’re seeing more recognition of African House music and the rise of talented female DJs such as Uncle Waffles, and DBN GOGO.

Experiencing Black Joy For The First Time

Months before moving to Berlin, I was tired of feeling that sense of otherness, of having part of my head back in my home country. I searched for events created for and by Black people in this city, I’m not even certain if I was already familiar with the term BIPOC, but if it hadn’t been the case before, little did I know how this would become a major part of my personal and creative journey here in Berlin. It would have never occurred to me that there would be so many safe spaces only for Black, Indigenous and People of Color in the city. I decided to attend my first BIPOC yoga session a month after moving here, at Oyoun, an institution centered around creative expression and wellness for marginalised communities. I had never attended a yoga class with other Black women in it. We weren’t the only people of color attending the class. I will never forget the feeling I felt when the other Black girls and I exchanged smiles at first, then giggles, and finally phone numbers, At the thought of meeting them again, I felt a sense of relief and homeness, a sense of care and relatability, from people who looked like me and understood the deeper and more vulnerable parts of me that only they could possibly understand. This Black Joy moment made me feel like I was closer to finding a chosen family. My chosen community.

Sure, these Black Joy moments are not the only ones I’ve ever experienced. I could always tell you more about the shock I felt when my Black-British college friends started singing Premier Gaou by Magic System, word for word, during our pre-drinking games, about the Black Girl Joy I felt when I saw Issa from Insecure, a Black woman like me, with the same natural hair texture and length or when I discovered the Instagram page "RomanticisingAfricanCountries" by Maimouna Elle, sharing the simple but aesthetically pleasing moments of life in different African countries.

Ultimately, Black Joy for me is the nuanced portrayal of how diverse Black experiences can be when removed from the white-Western lens. It’s feeling seen and heard, being part of a community in which one can easily feel at home. Black Joy is a daily practice. Black Joy is for the Black Gaze. Black Joy is looking beyond the Black History Months in the diaspora.

In the words of renowned filmmaker, Ousmène Dembène: “Europe is not my center. Europe is on the outskirts of Africa. Why be a sunflower and turn towards the sun? I myself am the sun."