Don't tell me that I'm not African just because my skin don't match the bottom of that pan when neither does yours!
Just because I don't speak the language know the culture breathe the lifestyle feel the blood of what's her name pumping through my veins don't mean I don't know… cause if that's the case then neither do you…
I find it painful to sit back and relax as people with darker skin claim their ancestry proudly.
It's something I just don't have the privilege to do.
I'm just too light- my skin that is- only I didn't choose to be.
I didn't choose to be raped slaughtered bleached straightened or beat…
I didn't choose to have more European descent, but I do, and that's okay.
Cause you see I don't deny the melting pot that I am.
I know I'm black, and white, and gold and silver and slaves and Indians and a little bit of Moor…
More… Oh you want more?
Yeah I know.
Question is do you?
-A product of Multiracialism
Being a light skinned Latina from la Republica Dominicana in West Africa brings back supressed memories of slavery I didn't even know I had.
Turns out I've been a slave all of my life because when you don't know the truth, you might as well be in chains…
The other day I saw this light skinned woman shopping at a “boutique” or as we say where I'm from- a bodega.
You could tell she was a local, but her skin wasn't that much darker than mine.
I remember robbing a couple of glances as I walked pass the boutique until she finally noticed me…
Maybe I made the moment up in my head, or maybe not, but it was as if she let me know that she understood my story- that she understood the darkness behind my light.
If I had one CFA for every time I heard someone call me a “Toubab” (The Wolof equivalent of Gringa/Gringo) I would have one million USD by now!
I am sorry to anyone who has ever been called a Gringa/Gringo…
I get it now.