There are very few things that get to me. I brush them off, or as a true Swifty would say, I shake it off. Unfortunately, colourism is just not one of those things. I can’t seem to shake it off, in fact, it’s glued on my mind. It's stuck on me and like a leech, it keeps gnawing on me slowly and swiftly. The unfortunate thing is that it’s difficult to notice, no one knows or if they do then they have bigger problems like the pandemic to care.
I was born of a chocolate brown woman and a midnight black man and as fate would have it, I inherited my dad’s skin tone and face to be honest.I’m a black girl.Okay let’s add to that I’m a skinny black girl. Never did I ever experience colourism mainly because we are all dark in our family, aside from this my childhood was marred by so many happy moments for me to check the mirror or my skin tone in this sense.
In high school, this changed. If I’m being thoroughly honest if I had known the amount of damage I’d go through in that school then maybe I’d have forfeited school altogether. In high school, it was evident that I was black, skinny and talkative. There were other black girls and I don’t know if they were made aware of their skin completion but for me, it became crystal clear that I was of the other shade. I’d make my way to campus afew years later only to be met by my worst enemy COLOURISM but in caps! I attended a “prestigious Christina university” in the city. At least that's what the institution refers to itself and with all it’s mighty and sanctity they just could not pray colourism away, or maybe they did not see it. You cannot wish away what you have not experienced. Beautiful girls had a particular skin tone, the lighter the better. Especially when the colour was a mixture of the two, a beautiful caramel Aaah, there that was it you were considered a beau. At this juncture, I was still black, midnight black, yuck!
Among the many friends or acquaintances that I’d make in school was a boy who’s name I won’t mention but his stand was that black girls cannot be cute and in our four years of study he only singled out one black girl who in his eyes passed the beauty test. I wasn't that girl, so stop holding your breath.
I’m constantly made aware that I’m black, this has not been made easy by my hyperpigmentation, my hands are lighter than my face, what a tragedy!. If it’s not the snide remarks it’s you’d look better if you were lighter. In fact, I’ve been told that if only I was a little lighter then I’d make the perfect girlfriend, this was by a male stranger in my matatu. You can only fathom the kind of day my 19-year-old self had to endure.
I was recently reminded of my skin tone by a man,(it’s always the men!)at a friend’s graduation party. He a fairly good photographer was busy taking photos of my girls and I before he casually said: “Asha you are the problem in this pic" insinuating that my skin did not marry well with my two best friends one is Somali a beautiful girl, to say the least, and as for Joy she has the right kind of melanin, the type that is readily and easily accepted. It is closer to the other shade than it is to mine. I walked out of the photo booth and go the remainder of the night I stayed away from any cameras mine included.
The other side of my being black is that I’m naturally photogenic and the runways and billboards are missing out if I do so say myself. I have worked with only two professional photographers and they all agreed that I was made for the camera. I like taking pictures, I rarely gravitate towards selfies because of my long frame, I’m 5’9 and in every picture, I like to have this detailed. But not on that fateful night, there I was the problem.
In her book, Sulwe Lupita mentioned that she’d pray to wake up lighter and ooh how relatable this is. Not like Whitney Cummings but just a little lighter I mean if we could get to Trevor Noah’s shade I wouldn’t mind, because maybe just maybe the society would be acceptable of me.