My friend Keyonashares her journey as a young Black woman living in India. Her story inspires and intrigues, as she deals with issues of racism, identity, hair and skin color in a very different landscape. Here is an excerpt from her essay:
A developing country like India may be a beautiful rose with many thorns. Yet once you learn how to find your way around them, the beauty is beyond words. Coming to India, I was worried about how I would be perceived as a Black woman from the United States. It took a while to explain to my home stay family that I am black and not “wheatish”. Once my home stay mother understood, she said “oh, you are Negro, but you are not so black.” One day I told her I wanted to go to South India and she said “they are a little bit blackie, like you.” Although these statements are politically incorrect and racist, I remembered that she is an older woman who has never been outside India. She does not mean to hurt me, but she has no context in which to understand my history and my identity. On the flipside, she often says “I don’t know why you straighten your hair, African hair is beautiful, and I like it”. Locally, I have not experienced racism when shopping or hailing a rickshaw. Some people think that I am African, West Indian or South Indian, but American is rarely their first guest. Here American usually means white foreigners. Most of the racist remarks have come from my study abroad program. I should have guessed when the manual said that “Dreadlocks will not be allowed” in bold caps. Obviously they were not expecting me to attend. During orientation, they told us that we would be targeted by people immediately because we were White. Annoyed and hurt, I had to remind them that I was not. During one class session, my academic director with the help of a book made the comparison between a poor village in India and the African American community.He concluded that this particular poor village in India had a better quality of life than the entire African American community. All I could do was protest and cry afterwards. He then told me “Don’t take it so personally”. Even my classmates are deconstructing my identity to make themselves comfortable. A friend told me that “for all intense and purposes you are white here.” My classmates are, like some of the population equating being American with being white. Three days ago, a female classmate turns to and says “I love being white here. You get everything you want, and people will do everything for you.” Out of everything this statement blew me away. It’s as if she expected me to nod and say “me too, I enjoy being white.” Did we not just finish studying British colonialism in India? How could that even come out of her mouth? I’ve never had the privilege that she speaks of, and at that moment I wanted to scream. In three months I have only seen one black person in Delhi, and we became friends instantly. But back in Rajasthan, the only black face for miles is mine. There is no one to commiserate with. After explaining this to my Academic coordinator, she somewhat brushes it off and tells me to give my self a pat on the back for getting thus far in the program. In coping, I think of it as a test. Maybe now, I will realize my capabilities and get in touch with who I am, spiritually. In a country where fair is always beautiful, and bleaching crèmes are promoted, it is up to me to hold fast to my culture and ethnicity, while also participating in another. I hope that you will all study abroad; the benefits definitely outweigh the challenges.
A developing country like India may be a beautiful rose with many thorns. Yet once you learn how to find your way around them, the beauty is beyond words. Coming to India, I was worried about how I would be perceived as a Black woman from the United States. It took a while to explain to my home stay family that I am black and not “wheatish”. Once my home stay mother understood, she said “oh, you are Negro, but you are not so black.” One day I told her I wanted to go to South India and she said “they are a little bit blackie, like you.” Although these statements are politically incorrect and racist, I remembered that she is an older woman who has never been outside India. She does not mean to hurt me, but she has no context in which to understand my history and my identity. On the flipside, she often says “I don’t know why you straighten your hair, African hair is beautiful, and I like it”. Locally, I have not experienced racism when shopping or hailing a rickshaw. Some people think that I am African, West Indian or South Indian, but American is rarely their first guest. Here American usually means white foreigners. Most of the racist remarks have come from my study abroad program. I should have guessed when the manual said that “Dreadlocks will not be allowed” in bold caps. Obviously they were not expecting me to attend. During orientation, they told us that we would be targeted by people immediately because we were White. Annoyed and hurt, I had to remind them that I was not. During one class session, my academic director with the help of a book made the comparison between a poor village in India and the African American community.He concluded that this particular poor village in India had a better quality of life than the entire African American community. All I could do was protest and cry afterwards. He then told me “Don’t take it so personally”. Even my classmates are deconstructing my identity to make themselves comfortable. A friend told me that “for all intense and purposes you are white here.” My classmates are, like some of the population equating being American with being white. Three days ago, a female classmate turns to and says “I love being white here. You get everything you want, and people will do everything for you.” Out of everything this statement blew me away. It’s as if she expected me to nod and say “me too, I enjoy being white.” Did we not just finish studying British colonialism in India? How could that even come out of her mouth? I’ve never had the privilege that she speaks of, and at that moment I wanted to scream. In three months I have only seen one black person in Delhi, and we became friends instantly. But back in Rajasthan, the only black face for miles is mine. There is no one to commiserate with. After explaining this to my Academic coordinator, she somewhat brushes it off and tells me to give my self a pat on the back for getting thus far in the program. In coping, I think of it as a test. Maybe now, I will realize my capabilities and get in touch with who I am, spiritually. In a country where fair is always beautiful, and bleaching crèmes are promoted, it is up to me to hold fast to my culture and ethnicity, while also participating in another. I hope that you will all study abroad; the benefits definitely outweigh the challenges.