In My Shoes
A Synopsis of the Experience of Black Girl
I had straight hair once and posters of Hannah Montana and white barbie dolls pasted high up on a wall opposite my bed. I remember the shame and humiliation that descended on me when I pronounced ‘management’ as ‘maanaagement.’ I still hear those piercing laughs from my peers who thought of me as a stupid black girl then. I still hear my Grade 1 teacher shouting at me for being illiterate. There were two black girls in my class then and both of us were in the lowest group for reading – alone. While other reading groups consisted of five or more people, my group had two girls and we were both black and unable to read fluently. I decided from that day to improve my fluency so that I didn’t have to cry again on the reading carpet. Whenever my mom came home, before she got the chance to put down her bags, I demanded that she sit down at the dining table to listen to me read. I had just spent over 3 hours reading out loud my story book of five pages of a story printed in big bold letters. I only got promoted two grades later. I remember during swimming lessons along the pool side I always sat with my legs perched up. If I sat normally and comfortably my thighs would be too big in comparison to my peers. Once I visited a friend together with another friend of mine who was black. The song ‘black and yellow’ by Wiz Khalifa was playing on the radio and it so happened that my friend wore a yellow T-shirt and black jeans. My other friend (the one who we had visited) sang the lyrics ‘black and yellow, black and yellow’, while pointing to my friend’s T-shirt and arm. I shouldn’t have to tell you what her race was, I am sure you can guess it. I remember in Grade 7 I was called ‘white Obama’ by my teacher. I laughed every time he said it, but I knew deep down I hated that he referred to me like that. When I started high school, there was not a conversation I had without another person saying, ‘you speak like a white person’. My identity as a black person was constantly questioned and I was always compelled to prove that I am in fact black which was absurd. On the other hand, in a game that I love, hockey, I was told I only made the team because of the quota system. I was told, while having to sit bench for majority of the games, that I only made it because I was the best black girl and not because I was good enough regardless.
These were forms of subtle racism. I could write about the overt forms but that would trick you yet again to think that racism is only valid when it is overt.
No.
Calling me white Obama was not a compliment, in actual fact, it undermines my very identity as a black person because it infers racism. It sets the notion that white is the standard of excellence and that even calling me just Obama as a compliment is not good enough. Being literate in English was not easy for me because, you can imagine, I came from a space where isiZulu was the language of instruction and communication at home therefore it was difficult to become accustomed to the English language. Now, I am not sour at the fact that I was in the lowest group for reading. If I could not read fluently, rightfully so, I should be placed there so that I can improve. However, I am upset at the humiliation I had to face as a six-year-old from being shouted at and fearing when it was reading time that I would be shouted at again. I write this with tears because I realise that young black girl never lived in her own truth. She tried to change who she was to please others. She spent days and years assimilating a culture and identity that was not hers. I am upset that, that young girl believed that her achievements were merited because of her ability to be ‘white’. I am upset that, that girl was constantly proving herself worthy because of her skin. I am upset that, that young girl believed her skin made her intellectually incapable.
I AM UPSET.
I am now upset to see that my black brothers and sisters are DYING at the hands of people that are supposed to be protecting them. I am upset that we live in a system which is built and thrives on the oppression of marginalized groups. Is it not enough that white people will always benefit from society in every shape and form? Clearly it is not – because the world, families and black people have seen roads, rivers and even their own homes covered in the blood of black people.
It is unacceptable that it is ALWAYS black voices that have to constantly stand up for themselves. It is unacceptable that the concentration of melanin determines whether black people survive past their twenty’s. It is unacceptable that black women continue to experience oppression not just from white people but also from their own male counterparts. It is unacceptable that some people are ignoring current events because they see it as a ‘black people’s problem’ when in fact, the problem is rooted from the very people ignoring it.
IT IS UNACCEPTABLE.
So, we ought to take to the streets with tired voices yet again.
Yours with a heart that is disillusioned, angry and sad
Nomfundo Mfeka
This prose was written by Nomfundo Mfeka and is in support of the #BlaveLivesMatter movement.
How To Help
https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co
Go to this website where you can sign various petitions, donate, and educate yourself about the #BlackLivesMatter movement.