That Black Girl

Too often, as a black female living in the UK you can feel unnoticed and unappreciated. From within our education establishments, to workplace environments, and social events plus our miniscule media presence – it’s very hard for the black British female to hold onto her worth and value.

Sadly for us this is something we must learn to do for ourselves as it is an all too rare event that we can shine without it being questioned or quickly knocked down (sometimes from the more insecure and less empowered within our own ranks!)

An early memory of such times for me was in my primary school. It was one of those rainy days, so sadly for us it was a “wet break time”, and we were therefore all cooped up inside instead of enjoying the freedom of the playground. To occupy us the teachers created a colouring contests. Paper was given out, the type that had printed on it loads of tiny triangles (I guess for maths originally). Like most children (and adults- as current new adult colouring books show!) I loved colouring. So I set to work.

A few minutes before the end of break the papers were taken in for judging. Third place picture was shown followed by second place picture and rewarded. Then to the winner. The teacher announced how cleverly it had been coloured with gaps, creating a pattern and therefore appearing complete within the limited break time. But there was no name on it. When she held it up I saw it was mine! I raised my hand to claim my win.

Only my hand went up. Yet the teacher, having seen it was my hand asked the room TWICE “who’s is this?” I persisted with my hand held high. Fortunately for me the children around me were honest so no other hand went up. It was only my hand, the only black child in my year. Reluctantly she had to face it – the clever pattern was created by me. I was elated whilst she seemed somewhat deflated. I only understood this inconsistency later in life.

Many times I have (now laughingly) looked back at peculiar moments that have challenged my beautiful blackness, worth and womanhood. One such time was when attending the party of a very nice white female friend (allow me to point out that I have, in fact, lots of white friends and do not, habitually, refer to them as “my white friend” but do so here for clarity). I would be the only non-white guest. I’d often tried to not attend her parties as, although fond of her, I found her friends not my kind of people. So it would be an evening of fake, forced conversation. But I went as I did not wish to offend her.

To my surprise there was a guy I vaguely knew there, let’s call him Adam. There was, at that time, a group of five white female friends I would go to bars with and one of those women was in a relationship with a close friend of Adam. Consequently our girls often ended up bumping into their group of guys (again about five of them) and spending the evening together. Whilst I knew all the other guys quite well, including Adam’s brother, I had never actually spoken to Adam.

So we struck up a conversation at this party. All was cool. After about 15 minutes I asked how his brother was. He was puzzled to find I knew his brother….and his friends. Quizzically and confused I mention my group of girls, at which he takes a large intake of breath, raises his eyes in realisation and exclaims

“Awww yeah, I remember now, there was always some black girl in the background!”

He was immediately shocked and apologetic at what he had said. I wasn’t shocked. Not at all, in truth. There are a lot of white males who I’ve felt had that attitude to me, to non-white females. I was in fact surprised how not upset I was – kind of refreshed to hear it out loud from the horse’s mouth and it not be my own “paranoia, insecurity, chip on my shoulder” I found I enjoyed him squirming at his honest declaration.

Rather than that moment harming me it actually felt good to have witnessed, if not stimulated, that light bulb self-awareness moment for him. He behaved very differently the next few times I saw him.

We must each stand strong in who we are. Unfairly, unjustly, knocks will come at us from the fresh early years of primary school and they will only continue. Many times they are unexpected and unnecessary. But each of us must learn to choose the battles to fight (rather than exhaust ourselves), and at other times enjoy an informed smile when others, whilst trying to assault and undermine you, actually expose their own cultural and racial short-comings, insecurities, blindness and plain foolishness.

Written By:
Andrea – That Black Girl In Front Of You