DIFFERENT VOICES/AFRICANS: I am an African woman from Nigeria who likes living in Ireland and have done so for many years, yet I still get asked about my origins. I guess the question about where I come from will forever be asked, irrespective of the length of time I reside here.
Even when I really do not want to answer, I find myself responding politely. I consider the query a convenient way of confining me into pigeonhole. I have come to accept and tolerate people's limitations. And mine.
In charitable moments, I do value the kindness and hospitality of Irish people, but this month has not been one of those moments.
Earlier in the month, an attempt was made to remind me of my place in Irish society and was I reminded! Forgive me, therefore, if I'm feeling uncharitable.
It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, dry and sunny, when I left my flat on a shopping trip. I had just come out of a shop when an elderly man started to rain abuse on me, racial abuse that is. The man proceeded to punch me a couple of times when I boldly asked (some might say stupidly) why he abused me. He made to run away and I stopped him running away by holding on to his jacket until help came, first in the shape of a young man. Ten minutes later, the police arrived.
It was an ugly and humiliating scene, which in the past I would have avoided by ignoring the racial abuse. Only this time I could not. I needed to know why a 60-odd-year-old man was consumed with so much hate and rage.
Why did he pick on me? Should I have walked away?
This is my home now, it will remain so for the foreseeable future and I - in my glorious blackness - refuse to accept that it is not my home. I have the right to be here.
My house is here, as are my dearest friends and job; I live on the south of the river, in a neighbourhood that was formally a Jewish quarter, an area which now boasts the most diverse immigrant population in Dublin. I have worked hard to make Dublin home and I will defend my right to remain and call it home - in the face of any hostility.
So please stop telling me to go back home. This is my home.