“We
Out Here”: Blackness Abroad
If you come from a typical Black family
like myself, then more than likely you’ve never been outside the U.S. before.
Everyone has their speculations as to why Black folks do not travel. And at the
end of the day the greatest reason is probably the most obvious: money. While
there are some travel hacks that can make your trip more affordable, like going
where the exchange rate works in your favor or traveling to wherever the plane
tickets are cheapest; at the end of the day traveling does take money and
typically it is a rare occasion for families and individuals from the Black
community to have that chunk of change lying around or to be able to save up
enough to embark on that experience. In fact, if not for the Benjamin E. Gilman
Scholarship, I would not have been able to afford my study abroad program. But
to my people, here’s why you should.
My first experience traveling abroad
was when I studied abroad in Cape Town, South Africa. I chose South Africa
because as an Africana Studies major I wanted to get more of a global
understanding when it comes to Blackness and being a part of the Black
Diaspora. Being a product of the American public school system and being a
Black American means that you must constantly search for yourself and your
people’s history outside of the classroom. I knew that I needed to understand
how my African-American culture had branched off from the root of our cultures
in Africa. Not only to fill in the gaps in my education but to deepen my
understanding of myself and my culture. I digress however, because that’s an
entirely different post altogether. But again, I was set on understanding
myself, looking to figure out my own Black identity and place within the
community in a domestic and global context.
Another reason why more Black folks do
not travel as often is something that we do not discuss often enough –
Traveling While Black. Anti-blackness is a global phenomenon and even those
Black people who do have the resources and the passion to travel have remarked
about how they are treated while they are abroad. One of my sister-friends and
her family went to Brazil and they had numerous occasions where taxi drivers
would not pick them up because they were Black! The more I’ve connected with
other brothers and sisters with a love for travel, the more I’ve heard negative
experiences like this relayed to me. And while the intensity of those
experiences depends on the country that is being traveled in, the phenomenon
exists everywhere and has greater global social implications than is normally
recognized. Historically in the U.S. Black people’s freedom of movement was
greatly restricted (sundown towns, anyone?) and a similar framework was put in
place in South Africa during apartheid as well with the adoption of passbooks
that Black people had to carry with them at all times. And while I’m using
historic examples, there are current ones as well that emphasize the ways in
which society tries to stifle and restrict the opportunities and advancements
of Black people institutionally.
But on the flip-side there are
experiences like the one I had in Cape Town where I felt completely accepted as
a Black woman. Not once did the feeling of being out of place resonate with me.
I was frequently spoken to in the local languages because I fit in phenotypically.
Interestingly enough when it comes to conversations about race, I was never
questioned about my Blackness like I have been at some points in the U.S. but
rather it was discussed which “type” of Black I was. In South Africa and due in
large part to apartheid what is regarded as the Black population is separated
into two groups: Black and Coloured. Now, to my U.S. folks do not be alarmed by
the term Coloured. In Cape Town, it simply means mixed however I am aware of
the context that word holds in American history. It took me some time to get
used to hearing it used so colloquially as well.
In many ways race and the implications
it had in society were eerily familiar to me in South Africa. I could see it in
the housing shortage throughout Cape Town, visiting many of the friends that I
made there in the townships (similar to inner city neighborhoods in the U.S.).
They lived in shacks that lacked proper electricity, heat and other utilities
that I had always taken for granted by being raised in a first world country. I
could see it in the large amounts of unemployment within the, yes you guessed
it, Black community. The list goes on. Cape Town reinforced for me that being
Black no matter where you are means that you will be at the bottom of the
socioeconomic ladder. Period. Another globally unifying connection within the
community, I suppose.
But at the end of the day, I never felt
more at home and more comfortable in my Blackness than I did in South Africa.
Maybe because for once, the majority of the people around me looked like me, so
I was free from being “othered” or from my actions being regarded as a positive
or negative implication towards my community. By seeing all of the other
beautiful and empowered Black women around me, I was able to embrace my body in
a way that I had never done before. For once, I was in a place where my body
type and hair texture was not only the norm but the preference of men. My first
few days in the city, I felt like I had entered the Twilight Zone because for
the first time in my life, I felt truly beautiful. Or maybe it was because I
was instantly adopted into the Black and Coloured community in Cape Town, being
called “sister” or “sissy” everywhere I went, even after my accent betrayed my
origins. The sense of community I experienced while abroad was unparalleled. And
even though I still ran into occasional instances of colorism, at the heart of
every interaction I had with folks in my community was one of being seen, felt
and heard. There’s something so powerful about being able to have visceral
connections with other Black people, without even having lengthy conversations
with them. The community understands who you are as you understand who you are
to the community. The community aspect was akin to the depth of the history of
the country that I was exposed to. I constantly found myself making parallels
to the history of apartheid and the Civil Rights Movement. The struggle is international.
The struggle continues.
I definitely believe
that the way race is discussed in South Africa was a factor too. I quickly
learned that there was no such thing as political correctness in Cape Town.
Everyone from my co-workers to strangers I met in Pick-And-Pay (local grocery
store) possessed a comfortability and openness to discussing race and the clear
implications it had had and was continuing to have in the country. It was
refreshing to have conversations where no longer was the focus on whether or
not race was a factor in play, but how it morphed and expanded in all its
insidious forms. Occasionally, there would be conversations on what to do next
with regards to race, but ironically as those same conversations do in the
U.S., they fell short of tangible solutions. Sometimes I wonder if there are
solutions to confronting race in an effective way or if we as a global
community are more obsessed with the conversations than we are with truly
determining what change looks like and striving for that. Either way, post Cape
Town my future as an ex-pat is starting to become more plausible.
This post isn’t just a plug about how
fabulous Cape Town is (even though it really, really is!!!) It sounds cliché
but my perspective on Blackness and how I viewed myself shifted in a pivotal
way that I know would not have occurred if I hadn’t stepped outside U.S.
borders. There will be challenges in your journey to define yourself and what
Blackness means to you. And I’m by no means done sorting out what those
definitions mean for me. Anti-blackness will always be a factor that permeates
our experiences (travel or otherwise) and every destination won’t always result
in the overwhelmingly positive experience that I had. But that doesn’t mean
that more of us shouldn’t be out there. In fact, it probably means that more of
us should. In the last year, I’ve begun to realize that I am happiest with a
passport and suitcase in hand. So go on and spread some Black girl magic and
Black boy joy wherever you go. I look forward to hearing all about it when you
get back, fam.
*Submitted in accordance with Follow-On
Project guidelines for the Benjamin E. Gilman Scholarship
