Nnebuife Kwubei: The Silent Affirmation of the Black Nod

I experienced the black nod again today, and it was as wholesome and refreshing as the first time I experienced it. I first found out that there was something called black nod some years ago. It was from “Blackish,”; a series. It was one of those things I didn’t pay attention to because as much as it was a common thing for someone to give you a curt nod in school, it was usually from a small place of familiarity. People you don’t know don’t give you a nod when you walk past them. At least, it was so in my experience as a student of the University of Benin. I also thought it was a Black thing, and you see, I didn’t understand what being Black meant in Nigeria.

You only actually understand that you’re Black and not just Black, a Black African, when you travel abroad. My first black nod was from a portly man sitting outside a shop and having tea with his white friend. I was on my way to inspect an apartment, and it had been a really long day. Armed with my phone and Google Maps, I was trudging along the paved roads when I happened upon him and his friend. I saw him from a few paces away, and he only saw me when I was almost walking by them. He looked at me intently and ever so gently in my eyes, cup in his hand, and gave me the nod. I was surprised but instantly reassured. I am not sure why I was reassured, but I felt so much safety, and almost immediately, I had a bounce in my steps.

He never took his eyes off my eyes as he gave the nod. He gave the nod and held it till I returned it. He did all this while holding his teacup close to his mouth. It was remarkable. I returned the nod and walked by. His friend was oblivious, but I was energised.

Some of the gestures abroad are maybe meant to put you at ease. As a Nigerian who lived in Lagos, my trust deficit is quite low. The older British woman will give you an indulgent smile, and the middle-aged one will call you “love.”; The Arab, Lebanese or Chinese merchant/Uber guy will call you brother. Almost everyone tells the bus driver “cheers”; or an enthusiastic “thank you”; when they get off the bus. I don’t really come in contact with the young people because my cousin rented an apartment where, surprisingly, more old people are married couples. But nothing has ever been as reassuring to me as the black nod.

Today, I received my second black nod. I had immediately crossed the street after getting off the tram when I saw a Black man in a hoodie walking towards me. Given the texture of his skin, he may be from East Africa. He looked at me as I was coming towards him, held my gaze in his eyes, and gave me the black nod. I was ready this time. I immediately returned the favour. No words were said. Just that extraordinary exchange between us in that very tiny gesture. I may never meet him again, and I have not met the first man since then. But I will remember my first two nods. The first one more because maybe the first is always the most remarkable.

The Black nod is an unspoken affirmation, a quiet recognition of shared existence in spaces where Blackness is often seen before the person. It is a moment of silent solidarity, a link to something larger than the self. In those brief exchanges, there is a knowing, a reminder that even in unfamiliar places, even in solitude, you are not alone. The first nod was remarkable; the second confirmed that this simple gesture carries history, kinship and an unspoken promise that wherever we are in the world, we see each other.

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Feature Image by August de Richelieu for Pexels