"Hey white woman!" I hear that cry a lot from the kids of Fish Town as I walk their streets either for exercise or transportation. "Give me money." "Give me bottle." I feel the hand of an adorable child join mine uninvited as I walk along only to hear from the little voice at my side, "Give me peppermint." I am white. No matter where I go or what I am doing I am a spectacle. At any one time there are only four white people in Fish Town and they all work for ARC. There is an albino Liberian here but he is well known and been here since birth so in a discussion of race he is black to these folks. We are decidedly white. A group of kids posed yesterday so I could take their picture. They love having their picture taken, and as they gathered around in a tight huddle straining to see themselves in the image I noticed a small boy on the edge of the scrum running his finger along the skin of my forearm daring to touch such an odd colored appendage.
The first time Jonathan and I walked to Jayproken the OIC asked a couple of the workers there to take us on a tour of the village. Everyone was very friendly, but the kids were fascinated. Some hid, some braved a wave, and many followed us as we walked around the village. We played with them a bit and laughed at their antics. Kingston, a man with dark black skin, turned and explained, "It is the color of your skin. The same would happen if I walked down your streets."
Race is a fascinating issue and after being the minority for 3 months I have come to the conclusion that white skin is always the trump card. While having white skin In a black culture can be annoying (who wants to be conspicuous 24/7?) white skin signals dominance and power whether it is in a white culture or black. I can only wish that if Kingston walked the streets of Minneapolis the worst he would face would be fascination. But we know that is not how it is. In our country black skin is not presumed to contain the brightest and most successful, the kindest or most approachable. Too often the the default assumption is just the opposite.
Perhaps even more wrenching than the American scenario is the Liberian situation. This is a black country. The only white people are NGO "humanitarian" workers. One can't even run for president here unless her or she is black. Still the people who are looked at as the saviors, the rich, the solvers are white. When we walk down the street people see money, they see help, they see a way they can gain. Only the small children who can't figure out how someone can be such a different color are afraid. Everyone else sees wealth and smarts and success. It is a far cry from what black Americans face on our white streets.
So next time you walk down a street and see skin different color from yours take a second, be courageous, and honestly examine what your preconceived notions are about the human being within. You might be surprised.
Thoughtful observations.
ReplyDeleteAs you have eloquently described in previous posts, it's not solely race that distinguishes people and sometimes their cultures there, but also an attitude of dependency rather than independent, creative resourcefulness. Why is that? Oppressed people in other places rise up and revolt - history has demonstrated this. The answer won't be simple.
Your statement that white trumps is disturbing certainly. What if we looked at somewhere else on the planet where white wasn't as strong a factor? Is race the key or is it the history of race in the location? And what of mixed races...since fewer people or solely one or another? I suppose it varies depending on history...
Lots to mull as I head of for a long walk. Thanks!
Hi Kelsy, Your comments ring true from when I have been in Central America. It's different to be the minority who is from wealth and the 'admired' culture. I wonder if it will be the same when I am in Nicaragua this summer with the kids from church - who are both white and brown - and how they are perceived and treated.
ReplyDeleteAs always thanks for sharing - so much to consider. Xo J
Great, insightful blog post. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteLovely post - I was a minority one summer in college living and running a summer kids program in the black inner city of Gary Indiana (1969 so very different than now). The kids called me "hey white girl". I could very much relate to your post. Well written!
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