In AMERICANAH, Ifemelu’s blog is called ‘Raceteenth, or Various Observations About American Blacks (Those Formerly Known As Negroes) By a Non-American...
I went and pulled this one from the ethers of the internet. From one of my favourite Novels, Americanah.
Almost six months ago, I moved to a small town in northern Germany after several years of living in Canada’s second-biggest city, Montreal in the province of Quebec. I am currently the only black-skinned person for kilometres around. Sometimes it can feel like I am the only one in the entire city, I can go days and weeks without seeing someone with a similar complexion. Black skin is a rare sighting in Munster and the locals do not shy away from letting you feel it. I am shocked by the noticeable difference in stranger’s behaviour whenever I leave Germany for the rest of Europe. They will sometimes still stare but will keep looking if you look back their way, and more importantly, would you happen to offer said stranger a smile, non-germans outside of Germany ,more often than not will smile back ... Wild.
I cannot yet say if this is caused by shyness or rudeness, Let's circle back in a year or so.
In language school teachers looked perplexed whenever I answered Canada to their " Woher kommst du ? " (Where are you from ?) I wondered if it's because they meant to ask me "Wo warst du geboren ?" (Where were you born ? ). I can't shake the feeling that, even if my birthplace was somewhere in Canada, they still would not have been satisfied with that answer. That an answer that would ring true to them was one that correlates with my appearance. One that explains my skin colour and my features, pinning me somewhere black people currently live as if we do not, as all non-black people live all over the earth thanks to globalization ( Or is it a colonization? the slave trade? or conflict in our homelands instigated by European nations ? ).
Conversations about race spur around me randomly, unwarranted. Racial slurs are used in my presence, unprompted. Questions, probing of and about my hair, its realness or lack thereof.Simultaneously being sexualized, and infantilized. Othering me before I've had the chance to say a single word.
Aggressively clueless is my current definition.
The worst part is how hopeless it feels that conversation would help. To be met with “what did you expect “. To be fair most of my white friends never understood why I was uncomfortable with some of their behaviour. It's the thing of how can you have a constructive conversation with someone about something that they do not believe exists. It is frustrating to be so well acquainted with the quirks and habits of white people, and have them be so clueless about mine. It is frustrating to explain to someone you love how to better take care of you and be met with incredulity and resistance. I find that expecting a human being to babysit another one into accepting them as an equal, is violent. Understated violence, not only when it comes to race but in all interpersonal relationships ... The stubborn blindness is hard to respect, I cannot see how it isn't feigned. These days I find myself dreading confronting people about my needs, I simply won't do it, if they don't care by now, to me it sounds like they are actively choosing not to. I feel more should be said about personal initiative.
Even in the instances of acquaintance and casualness, speaking less maybe, and listening more. It'll reduce by half the chances of saying something stupid at least. Just throwing suggestions out there, I am desperate.
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