How I came to love my blackness after living outside the African continent (Part 1)…

The first time I left the shores of my country, the African continent was in July 2014. I was 20 years old at that time.

Growing up, I had had grand visions, imaginations and dreams about the world. I could name at least 10 to 15 countries on each continent- I could confidently tell you the differentiating features between a chinese and a Japanese or a Korean and a Vietnamese.

You name a country and I could tell you what continent it was on with at least 60% accuracy. I could differentiate the alphabets in a russian sentence to the one in a thai sentence.

I only saw the world through rose-tinted glasses, I was in love with every race, colour, person and believed an interesting life and great adventure waited for me outside my African continent.

I knew the names of actors from almost every hollywood movies I had seen and would sing the latest soundtrack from a Shahrukh Khan movie without wasting a breath. I had american history at the back of my palm, could recite tales from the Nanjing massacre in china and the Japanese occupation of South Korea. Down from the tales of Gandhi to the black death in Europe. I knew a bit of everything and most greatly, racism was a thing of myth to me, I didn’t understand and dismissed it from my mind.

So imagine my joy when I found out I would be going on a great adventure to the Asian continent. I was terribly excited to know that, I would be travelling to the China for a university Internship programme in March of 2014. My mind would drift for hours on end, conjuring all sorts of fun adventures I would have and how much happiness and fulfilment I would have when I finally leave the African Continent.

Embarking on my first trip out of the African Continent in July of 2014, I landed in Beijing, China filled with unbridled bright eyed curiousity and excitement. I’m not going to lie about it, I had a great time in Beijing. I saw my dreams come alive. I mingled with a huge international community and met people from all over the world. Every continent of the world. I also learnt not to assume one’s nationality or ethnicity. The polite thing to do when meeting someone for the first time was to ask:

“Where are you from?”.

Never assume that because they look east Asian then they definitely must be from China, Japan or Korea. God forbid them being Italian or American. Never say:

“Oh you say you’re italian, but where are you from exactly. You can’t be Italian because you look Chinese”

I realized that even though I thought I knew the world, I still had a lot to learn about it.

I returned back home in January 2015 to finish my university studies. I came back home with a chip on my shoulder, thinking I knew it all, thinking i had seen the world and therefore marginally better and learned than the people I saw around.

I knew I was going to back someday. life back home felt dull. So I studied hard to finish university in time to return to the overseas to continue my adventure.

The opportunity to return to China came in the form of a Chinese language competition for students in July of 2016. It was with great Joy that I packed my bags once again to travel to China.

This my dear friends was when life hit me in the face. It sucker punched me in the gut and slammed me hard in the lungs.

It hit me like a ton of bricks been offloaded from” a ten ton Construction truck. Keep in mind that it was also around this time that a certain US president got elected into office.

I had my very first brush with racism.

It felt surreal when the organizers of these competition couldn’t be bothered to put the African contestants in a clean space and instead out of all the Seven continents present at the competition. we were made to sit in a dusty Poorly ventilated office.

That was strike one for me.

We were made to move practicing space because the students from a certain white continent didn’t want to climb the stairs all the way to the top floor. So the best solution was to swap places with the African students. because after all we did n’t mind climbing all those steps.

That was strike two for me.

When it was time to record the televised segment of the show, we were never called upon to participate on camera. And when we were called upon, we were either the last to be called upon or second to the last before a certain non-white continent.

That was strike three for me

Even within the African continent, they would pick favourites. The ones that looked less black and pretty to them.

This put the entire competition in bad books for me and I was in a foul mood most of the time because I just could not understand why we were been treated like this.

Now don’t get me wrong, I had some fun times in the competition and met some nice people. But I couldn’t get past the blatant favouritism that was going on in this competition.

Part of the good treatment I got in the Competition was due to the fact that to them I wasn’t “too black” and being on the petite slim side I was able to get in their “standard book of beauty” .

Two particular accidents stood out to me the most in the competition. A contestant from the Oceania continent was swapped out from the finals with a blond hair blue eyed contestant because he didnt fit their “mold” of what someone from that continent should look like.

Same thing happened with a contestant from the African continent. All in all it was a real eye opener for me.

I remember a contestant from a certain white country saying:

‘Ugh why are there so many Africans in this competition’

I remember giving her the stink eye that clearly told her to take several seats.

I returned home with a broken heart, rose glasses broken to smithereens and all the beauty I saw in the world as a black person had vanished.

The USA elections then rolled around and I got a front seat to all the dramatics of a certain US president’s campaign.

Though I find this US president to be an incredibly interesting unstable time bomb of a man, I finally understood the sentiment against POC when he was elected into office. It was indeed a hard pill to swallow.

Everything about the world i thought I knew turned out to be wrong. It felt like the blinders I had over my eyes had finally been removed. I could finally see the world for what it really was.

“A dirty Prejudiced Place”

I finally began to grow up at 23. A little too Late if you ask me. Imagine understanding what racism is at 23 years old, understanding that you had to rebuild your dreams again at 23 years old. Understanding that as a black person, you had fight as twice as hard as everybody else just to be heard. Understanding that the world has already judged you before uttering a word because of your skin colour.

finally Understanding the plight and struggles of the everyday black person where he happens a Poc.

Understanding that even though foreigners on the African continent get such warm treatment from Africans. It is not the same when you visit their own Continent.

All these was a very hard Pill to swallow.

So my hatred for the world began to grow unconsciously without me realizing it. It was perhaps my defense mechanism.

If this was perhaps my awakening to being hit by a ton of bricks. my experience travelling once more between 2018 and now has been a nuclear bomb explosion magnitude of realizations about myself, my heritage, my ethnicity, my blackness and my history.

I realized how little I appreciated, loved, and knew about my own people’s lives

It was a rude awakening. One I’m glad I went through, because I came out Loving myself more than ever and Loving my fellow black people.

Stick around for Part 2 of my rambling thoughts, won’t you?

Disclaimer: I have absolutely nothing against the Asian or white populace. I have met some truly awesome people from all over the world.

This writeup is simply to chronicle my journey into self-discovery as a black person.