Roland Cho Nkwah
Because I am BLACK!
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“Black is Beauty.” I remember seeing this slogan almost everywhere around me in my childhood. It made me think that I would dye my skin black if I weren’t black or black enough to be considered by this emblematic phrase. This rapturous thought galvanized me into thinking ill of people who tried to make their skin colour fairer. I lost respect for some of my friends as well as some kith and kin at some point just because I thought they were trying to unblacken their bodies –bodies that are theirs, not mine! Follow me on a flash trip to a kingdom where being white or “Bai Renism” tends to blind the eye and numb the brain’s ability to detect and distinguish between quality and appearance! How intellectually myopic I now think I was in my thoughts of these New White People or “Bai Ren” as they are better known on this part of the globe in which being Black is synonymous to uninvestigated inability. Though not all are guided by this, very few openly stand against it, or dare castigate such foregone Truths that being black is a weakness.
I
A friend of mine called one morning to tell me he was going for an interview for a teaching position in a Middle School. With a Master’s degree in English Literary Studies, he was pretty sure he would land the job because in the online chat with the employer, my friend remained polite not to point out the countless language errors he found in his interviewers expressions. Ballooned by his conclusion that the one to interview him needs some intensive lessons in English Grammar and Usage, he rushed to catch a train to the city where he was supposed to take the interview and then the job. After a twenty hour journey, he finally got off the train and decided to keep the trauma he had on the train to himself until after the interview. My friend spent a night in a hotel that wasn’t easy to secure. But, as with the train ride, he decided to sit on all the oddities that he went through just to have a room.
He was up before dawn; he quickly went to have his bath and set out to the school where he was expected. Unfortunately, he could not have his bath that morning because there was no hot water and the hotel staff were puzzled as they tried hard, by way of questions, to understand why my friend needed hot water so early in the bathroom when he did same just the night before. Both parties were very surprised at each other; my friend, knowing that he had a job to lose, quickly swallowed his dissatisfaction and headed for the lobby to checkout of his hotel room. At the Desk, he was told he couldn’t checkout of his room so early! Not wanting to start his interview day with a squabble, he once more contained his anger and waited for nearly ninety minutes! Although he at first believed their story that the person who took his caution and copy of passport last night was not available so he had to wait till she came, he later realized, to his utter dismay, the true reason for which he was held for the duration of a football game.
He left the hotel and caught a cab. The driver was an example of a nice person. Neatly dressed and polite, the brown-skinned, middle-aged outgoing cab driver introduced himself as a father of three (very unusual in my friend’s host country) from the western part of his country. Though my friend’s ability in French and German is not to be questioned, his skills in the language of his host country needs to be improved significantly. In spite of this, he was able to notice that although the hotel staff and the driver spoke the same language, there were significant phonetic differences.
My friend finally got to the school where he was to have the interview. Filled with confidence that he would get the job because of his level of education and the interviewer’s low ability in English, he confidently presented himself to the guard at the gate! The guard smiled but said nothing in response. He waited for a few seconds and then went on again explaining to the guard how important his meeting that morning with the Head of the school was. There was still no reply from the guard, but he laughed out and said a few words in Mandarin which according to my friend’s guess meant he couldn’t understand English. My friend then told him in some broken Mandarin that he was there to meet with the “Xiao Zhang” [siao Jang] meaning “Headmaster”. The guard laughed in disbelief that a “lao wai” or foreigner, as they are better known here, could say something he could understand. The next utterance is just what made my friend guess that this man was not laughing with him but rather at him. The guard asked him “ni shi mei guo ren ma?” (Are you American?) My friend knew it wasn’t going to be easy going through the gate because such questions generally expose the desire and preference for Americans.
As my friend pulled a miniature U.S flag from his bag while nodding to the question, the guard quickly dialed the phone and spoke a few words. What my friend remembers most is the emphasis on the phrase “mei guo ren” as the guard repeated this several times. As the guard hung up, he stepped out of his office and reached for my friend’s hand bag and showed him in through the gate. Just a few metres from them; he spotted someone walking towards them. To this person, the guard was saying something that my friend guessed was a kind of introduction of him as “mei guo peng you” [may goo o peng yoh] an American friend. A forced smile appeared on the oncoming lady’s face! My friend started wondering if she is the Headmistress. The supposed Headmistress then said “Hi”, and my friend replied “Hello! I’m Joe AJIEW”. My friend remembers she didn’t say anything more than this because, for the next ten minutes or so, she was on phone with someone explaining something. What it was about wasn’t my friend’s concern, but the number of times the phrase “hei ren” (Black Man) was used suggested that something was wrong. The guard handed my friend’s bag and returned to his post. The lady continued to ‘explain’ something as Joe could imagine; since the lady’s right hand constantly went to her chest and then fell back downwards with her palm open as the left hand pressed the phone to her left ear. She suddenly stopped and looked at her cell phone and then redialed a number that my friend guessed was the same correspondent who might have suddenly hung up the line.
With a look of surprise and disbelief on her face, she tried to cover it up and asked my friend whether he would like to talk with her on the spot or go somewhere else. Confused and surprised, but very calm, my friend said “Why not look for somewhere to sit down?" She asked my friend to follow her and they walked to what looked like the main office block. As they walked towards the building, the lady made another call that was apparently not answered. Joe could read both frustration and a forced smile on her face. He was led to a room in the left wing of this big structure and asked to wait in the room. Someone entered the room as if to see or confirm some information they just had. As she set eyes on Joe, the latter heard these words “wo de tian na!” “shi fei zhou ren” “my god! He’s an African!” She had hardly gone for five seconds when a man entered too, stared at my friend, grinned and then walked away. My friend waited patiently as he hoped that the very friendly Headmaster he had spoken to the days before would arrive soon.
II
Joe later recounted to me in an email.
Sitting in that room alone, I went wild with imaginings. This happened to be a perfect time for me to recollect and reflect on the issues I experienced on my way to this interview. First were the incidents during my twenty-hour long train ride. It all started with this little boy who scared me with a loud sharp scream as I walked past where he and his mother were sitting. I tried to be considerate to this little boy and went back a few steps to ask if I stepped on his toe or perhaps, had hurt him in some way. The mother shouted at me and showed me away as she held her son tight against her breasts, yelling. I did not understand what she said, but her tone and actions made me think that she was not happy. What could she be upset about? I asked myself as I stood there, dumfounded. The mother and her son went silent as the mother trembled with her two hands wrapped round her son. An officer on our coach asked me to go and take my seat. I walked away from them apologetically, although I did not know what I had done to stir their anger.
Next to me were a young man and a girl whom I assumed were friends. The young man greeted me and asked if I could speak Chinese. I answered in the negative; then complimented him about his ability to use English. As expected, he played it down and modestly said, “My English is not good”. The girl asked her boyfriend what nationality I was. He said he didn’t know. The girl then leaned forward and asked me the same question. I replied her I was from Cameroon.
“Where is Cameroon?” She stuttered!
“What was it that woman was saying to me? I cut in.” I asked in confidence.
I was still in a loss as to why the boy screamed and why the mother squeezed her son close to her while seemingly protesting. As they sat next to me, they first looked at each other and then the boy said
“He is crying because you are black”.
“So, he cried because I am black?” I questioned.
“Yes!” he confirmed.
“In fact you are very black. Are you from Africa?” The girl asked.
“Do I look like a person from Africa?” I muttered.
“Yes, I think black people like you are from Africa,” she concluded.
It was from that moment that I started to understand what happened the previous day as I went from hotel to hotel to look for where to spend the night. I remember the first five hotels I went to did not show signs of being completely booked because at each of them, a call or two were made before I was told either that I can’t live in the hotel or that there were no vacant rooms. I also remember that every time calls were made, the caller often mentioned the words “hei ren” or “fei zhou ren” (African) several times. I began to wonder whether it was because I was black that I was African, or whether I was African because I was black, or better still whether all these difficulties befell me just because I was black. What is wrong with being black?
I can recall that a few weeks back, I suffered from food poisoning that led to allergic reactions on my skin. I was taken to a clinic. There, I thought I was being treated as a patient with a medical or, call it, a health disorder. The doctor on duty and the nurses administered a dose of acupuncture with needles that were removed from what looked like an old clay cup on a shelf. For this, I did not complain because I thought this was a clinic and that it must be a clean place. The shocking thing here is that after administering the treatment, the doctor advised the nurses to put the needles apart for serious disinfection. A blatantly reminder. Needles that were not disinfected before use on me are disinfected only after they are used on me.
Before being taken to this clinic by a female friend, she advised me not to say I was from an African country. This was her idea to maximize the attention that the medical staff would give me. I felt perplexed, but at the same time proud of my national identity and didn’t see why I should pretend to be an American. But because I had been at a chemist’s earlier and the medic was afraid to touch my skin to examine the allergies, I decided to take that as a lesson and not say my true nationality. I did not want to lie either that I was an American, so I simply said I am from Ghamerica. Sometimes I said I am from Nigeroon or any word that came up at the time of the question. I told some people I was from Space and they nodded as if they knew where this country was. I remember meeting a group of shoppers in a mall and telling them that I came from outer Space. They didn’t only believe me, but even told me “It’s a beautiful country!” I love talking about my country to my students, but I can’t stand the fact that most of them don’t even know a thing about my motherland - “Africa in miniature”. It amazed me how so many people failed to realize that the countries I mentioned were nonexistent. Some people even ventured to say I am an African and when their listeners asked how they could be so sure, the answers were almost always instant ‘“because he is black”
One experience that is really hard to forget is the scene at the hotel where I spent the night before the day of the interview. I had a busy night because of these many calls from someone who wanted to help me out as he said. I asked to know how he wanted to help me and why he thought I needed his help. He was trying to link me up to a lady that would like to do a one night service. I pretended not to know what he was talking about and so he added confidently that he knows I haven’t done it for a long time now, and that the young lady really liked me and wanted me. Uh ha! It sounded not bad to me then, but as I insisted on knowing how she could like me and even want me when I am just over an hour old in this hotel, my correspondent said they know it because I am different. The young lady knows that I am Black and so she thinks I am strong and therefore would need her services. Things evolved so quickly and ended so abruptly, too. She didn’t want to wait till dawn because that might bring about some mockery from her team mates. Although she asked for my phone number before her departure in the wee hours of the next day, she declined giving hers to me.
It was nearly 5 a.m. when I started preparing to leave the hotel. There was no hot water for me to take a bath. The waiters found it ridiculous that I needed hot water in the bathroom. I explained to them that I needed to take a bath. I thought I really needed a bath after such a busy night. Despite my pleas, nothing changed. Down at the Desk, I couldn’t check-out because one of the workers had made a call to the mother asking her to come and see a Black man, life! So, the only way to keep me there until the mother came was to lie to me that the waiter who signed me in the night before was out and I had to wait for him because he is in charge of foreign guests. I stood there waiting for him, and the other workers took the advantage to fix their eyes on me as they chatted. I later discovered in the recordings I did with my mobile phone that they were saying that because of my black skin, I need to bathe regularly so as to look presentable. What shocked me most was the fact that they were saying this with smiles, giggles and sporadic laughter.
III
Joe reflected on all these as he sat in that room waiting for the headmaster to come for the interview. The lady that brought him into that room came back and asked if he had eaten. She invited him for lunch. It was lunch time. Students were out and Joe could hear some of them arguing that although he was black, he might still be American. Others simply discarded the possibility of a black person coming from America. While some pinted out that “ta bu shi bai ren” (he isn’t a white person), others insisted that “wo men xiang yao de shi bai ren laoshi” (we want to have a white teacher). As the noise of the students abated, Joe was ushered into a car that was waiting almost at the doorstep. Though it had tinted classes, it didn’t bother or frighten him because cars with such dark windows are pretty common here.
They drove to a restaurant and ordered lunch. As they ate, the lady decided that Joe should call her Cancel. Cancel kept asking Joe questions about his plans after lunch. He was puzzled because he had come to the school for an interview that was arranged well in advance. He said he would know what to do after the interview, and the driver who had all along been silent quipped: “gao su ta wo men bu yao wai jiao le” (tell him we don’t need a foreign teacher). Joe was taken aback, first by his reaction and secondly by the voice which sounded very much like the one he used to hear as they arranged for the interview. The driver left without saying a word. Shortly afterwards, Cancel also left asking Joe to call her as soon as he finds a place to sleep or if he needs her help in any way!