Being a teenager isn’t easy — anywhere. Being a teenager in one place when you’re parents are from another place is even harder. Yoni Brook and Musa Syeed explore the relationship between mother and daughter, and here and there, in a new documentary set to air on September 22 on PBS. Bronx Princess is the story of Rocky, your average American teenager, and her not-so-average Ghanaian family.

I got a sneak peak of the doc a few months back when Yoni gave me a copy. It’s a great story, with an amazing soundtrack, insight that crosses both sides of the Atlantic, and horses on the beach. Yes, horses. Check your PBS affiliate for screening times! And, from September 23 – October 23, you can watch the film on the web.

See previous Context Africa posts:

• Stephanie Nolen explains an epidemic in 28 stories
• Alex Halperin looks at the Mzungu Thing
• Katine project brings village life to the mainstream media
• Candace Feit captures Senegalese wrestlers in monochrome
• Mary Wiltenburg documents a year in the life of a refugee
• Sam Reinders pictures the complications of “poverty tourism”
• Paul Sika’s technicolor dreamscape
• Andrew Rice on memory, murder and Idi Amin
• Tim Hetherington on the culmination of ten years of taking pictures in Liberia
• Rob Crilly on how to write about a place as contentious as Darfur
• Nicholai Lidow on post-conflict surfing
• Jina Moore’s Q and A about forgiveness in Rwanda

How did you find the subject for Bronx Princess and how did it go from concept to film?

Our first film, A SON’S SACRIFICE (PBS Independent Lens 2008), explored a father-son relationship at a halal slaughterhouse in Queens, and we had hoped to make a mother-daughter companion film in another borough of New York. However, making a documentary is rarely a straight path, so we weren’t sure how to meet our ideal subjects. During a weekend shoot in a predominantly West African neighborhood in the Bronx, we stumbled into a corner store. The owner, Auntie Yaa, treated us like we were her own children. She welcomed us immediately, cajoling us to try on wigs and sample the lotions she brought from Ghana, her homeland. And we weren’t the only ones — everyone on the block called her “Ma.” Customers trusted her not only tell them which soap would get rid of acne, but also how to patch things up with a boyfriend. But the one person who wasn’t so enamored with the community’s matriarch was Auntie Yaa’s own daughter, Rocky. When the self-assured 17-year-old Rocky walked in, we saw a family conflict brewing: the teenage search for independence butting against her parent’s stern guidance. After hanging out with Rocky and her mother, we knew the stars of Bronx Princess had found us.

Did you find music you like or have someone create a score to match the footage?

Bronx Princess’ music was composed and performed specifically for the film by Blitz the Ambassador, a Ghanaian-American hip-hop artist based in Brooklyn, NY. The score is primarily Ghanaian high life music, featuring strong percussion and horns, with elements of hip-hop. Blitz grew up in Ghana and went to college here in the US, so he understands the the bi-continental experience of Rocky, the film’s protagonist.

Blitz is a talented musician with new album “Stereotype. and we’re releasing a soundtrack to Bronx Princess later this month on iTunes

How did the family in Bronx Princess react when the saw the film?

After we premiered our film in New York at Lincoln Center, a group of 30 high school students surrounded our subjects, Auntie Yaa and her daughter Rocky. They bombarded them with questions, asking for advice about how to deal with their own parents. Rocky and her mother transformed into sages, dispensing witty advice and causing the students erupt in laughter. We didn’t know how Rocky and her mom would react to seeing their lives on the big screen, but the response from the students cemented their commitment to the film. We’re grateful that they entrusted us to tell their story.

You guys stayed with Rocky’s family in Ghana, did you ever feel caught in the middle of the family drama?

Making the film became more of a collaboration with the family than we expected. We became a familiar sight at Auntie Yaa’s beauty supply store — Yoni pointing a camera and Musa balancing a boom pole. Most customers assumed we were making a commercial for the store, but after a few months they realized that even infomercials didn’t require so much shooting.

Our long hours enabled us to gain the trust of both mother and daughter. After one fight in particular at the store, the mood was tense when we followed them back home. After Rocky went to bed early, Auntie Yaa asked us to sit down with her. We thought that she was going to kick us out for invading her family’s privacy. But instead she spoke to us softly, “We’re all family now. Tell me: Am I being to hard on her?” The next day, we found ourselves becoming Rocky’s confidants as well, as she admitted she might have an attitude, but she really just wants to be appreciated. We learned to be good listeners so that we could include both of their perspectives in the film.

When Rocky goes back to Ghana, she’s very much a visitor, and that seems so telling of how different life is for African in the diaspora. How did you and your partner navigate that as film makers?

We were conscious of Rocky’s high hopes of her life in Ghana. As a teenager ready to leave her home in the Bronx, she idealized her parent’s birthplace. She craved a life with more freedoms in Ghana and a more permissive relationship with her father, the chief.

Unfortunately, her father had a different agenda in mind for her three week visit.

As filmmakers, neither of us had been to West Africa before so we were unsure of what to expect. We lived at the family’s palace for three weeks while filming. Everyone else living in the palace understood that there are special rules for interacting with the Chief, such as speaking modestly in front of him. But as filmmakers, we needed to make certain requests of the Chief, like asking him to wear a wireless microphone, which he perceived as a challenge to his authority. After he scolded us, we promised to be more careful. And then there were customs we were simply ignorant of. One day, Yoni casually crossed his legs while sitting in front of the Chief. The Chief called in one of his advisors to explain that crossing one’s legs in front of a chief was a great insult. Eventually, we learned how to work within the Chief’s parameters and before long we were on the dance floor with him, celebrating his chieftaincy at a family party.