I have been wrestling with the topic of race for the past six months. I want to preface this blog post by saying that I may make mistakes when addressing a topic as nuanced as race and life as a minority. Before joining the YAGM program, my interactions with racial discussions were limited. As ashamed as I am to admit, I was once one of those people who considered myself “colorblind”, having no clue just how much that idea perpetuates racist tendencies. It was a discussion that, because of the color of my skin, I had the privilege of avoiding. But entering into the YAGM world (yes, I consider it a world of its own) I was smacked in the face with everything I never knew I didn’t know about race and privilege. Despite all of my travels and experiences of different cultures and ways of life, I never fully understood what my role was in the discussion of historic and modern day racism. Luckily for me, I stumbled upon this program that has forever changed the way I view…well just about everything.
Let me start by saying that I am at the very beginning of my journey of finding my place in the discussion of race, but reading the book Waking Up White by Debby Irving has been an invaluable tool for opening my eyes on where to begin. If you haven’t read (or heard of) this book, I highly encourage you to check it out! Everyone’s experience with race is uniquely their own, and the fact that I’m beginning this path of discovery while living life as a white woman in Senegal has greatly impacted the direction of my journey. I want to make it very clear, I’ve never had a negative experience in regards to my race, either here or anywhere else. So my intention is by no means to compare my experiences with those of minority experiences in America or elsewhere around the world. I am very much aware that come July, I will have the privilege of returning home and once again become a part of the majority. My minority experience has an expiration date, whereas people of color in the United States live this life every day without reprieve.
Up until six months ago, I never knew the feeling of being the only white person in the room. Of the sheer impossibility of blending in, or of going anywhere or doing anything unnoticed. For those that have never had an experience like this, unnerving is the only word that comes close to describing it. There are many other reasons I don’t fit into the culture here, but even if I was fluent in the native language and dressed in nothing but Senegalese clothes, I wouldn’t be able to escape the color of my skin.“Toubab” would still be shouted at me daily as I walked down the street. Being confronted with my race so blatantly has made me reflect on my life back in the U.S. I took for granted how comfortable I felt in so many situations because I was a part of the majority and I had the privilege of blending in when I didn’t feel like being noticed. I can’t begin to describe how exhausting it is to always stick out. It seems like a trivial thing until it is your life, day in and day out. And yet it was something that had never crossed my mind before beginning this year. There are many things that never crossed my mind before beginning my YAGM journey. I never noticed how whitewashed my life truly was. From the community I live in, the shows I watched on tv, to the books I read. I was only exposing myself to a single story narrative. There is an amazing TED talk by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian author and activist, about the dangers of the single story narrative. If you have not watched it (or read any of her books) I cannot recommend it enough!
While being here, I’ve had quite a bit of downtime to read, and I’ve been trying to be intentional about the types of materials with which I surround myself. I’ve read some of the most amazing books this year that I never would have heard of had it not been for YAGM pushing me to confront the whiteness of my life. Most recently, I’ve been reading books about the history of European colonization in Africa. Senegal has a deep rooted history as a major port during the slave trade. It has been a heartbreaking journey through history. God’s Bit's of Wood by Sembene Ousmane really opened my eyes to the violent history of dehumanization the Senegalese had with the French towards the end of the colonial era. I also just finished a phenomenal novel, Homegoing by Yaa Gy’asi that takes place in Ghana beginning during the slave trade and follows the lineage of two families up to modern times. Sometimes when the crisis of racism and privilege seems too daunting and I get lost in the feeling of “what can I possibly do to make a difference”, I’ve found that simply diversifying my reading materials to include voices of color has helped to put things into perspective and bring the problems back to an individual level. I may not be able to single handedly change the systemic and historical issues of racism. But I can control what materials with which I surround myself. I can control whose voices I choose to lift up.
Senegal gained independence from their colonial oppressors in 1960 but the evidence of post colonization can be seen and heard everywhere you turn. From the prevalence of French in daily conversation to the food that’s served at every meal. It seems impossible to escape the grasp of European influence. What has stuck out to me the most is the way white skin is viewed by the Senegalese. More times than I can count, I’ve had children and adults stroke my arm and sigh saying “a mosa” or “it’s so beautiful”. I’ve had my fellow students at the women’s center look at my hair in astonishment and comment on the “naturalness” of it, as if their own hair was somehow less authentic. I’ve seen my teenage host sister spend her hard earned money to buy lotion that bleaches her skin to look lighter.
The feeling of helplessness when you’re brought face to face with centuries old concepts of white supremacy can be overwhelming. Simply saying “no your skin is much more beautiful than mine” or “the design of your braids looks amazing” never feels like enough. No amount of compliments I dish out can combat what centuries of colonial rule has embedded into the hearts and minds of the Senegalese. To them, white means beauty. White means money. And white means respect. Part of what this year means to me is doing everything in my power to combat those stigmas. Lifting up my Senegalese partners, acknowledging the beauty in their daily lives. Admitting that in fact, I don’t have a lot of money (my stipend resembling that of the average Senegalese person). And showing them that I while I appreciate their respect, I have not earned the same level of respect or power that my Senegalese coworkers have, considering a kindergartener can communicate more effectively than I can.
Recently, our area director visited Senegal to attend the church festival and to meet with leaders as is part of her job of accompaniment for the ELCA. Reverend Dr. Andrea Walker was generous and patient enough to sit down with us and have the much needed, and often difficult, conversation about our experiences here in Senegal in regards to colonialism, white supremacy, and systemic racism back in the United States. Although it is never the job of people of color to teach white people about racism, Dr. Andrea was kind enough to answer our questions while also being unapologetically truthful about the history of racism and slavery in America as well as being forceful about not letting us off the hook when her questions for us got tough. Sitting under a tree with her and the rest of my cohort, we were asked to address our privilege as well as discuss what actions we’ve taken since being here that has helped combat the racist stigmas of “white means power” in Africa. We shared how this year has changed us, how we are all afraid of what our life will look like once we get back to the U.S. We discussed how we plan to walk the line between having found our niche here in our African communities, but recognizing how this experience will not translate to acceptance into African-American communities back home. Finally, we shared our fears about not being able to accurately describe this amazing, life-changing, heartbreaking, and resilience building year to our sending communities (that’s you!) once we get back. So please be patient with me come August!
I by no means have all the answers, I barely have any answers. But part of this journey for me has been about forgiving myself for my imperfections and allowing myself to make mistakes. How else am I going to learn? But what I couldn’t forgive myself for is using my privilege as a white woman to ignore the problem any longer. My eyes have been opened. I’m not colorblind. I see race, and I see the crisis that is before us. As I mentioned earlier, everyone’s path to discover their place in the discussion of race is their own. But if like me, you find yourself disheartened by the journey before you, fret not. Sometimes the first step can be as simple as diversifying the stories to which you expose yourself. I chose the ‘baptism by fire’ route having begun my journey by living as a minority for a year in Senegal. But your journey doesn’t need to be so drastic.
I have a simple challenge for you all. Take a look at the voices with which you’re surrounding yourself. What books are you reading? What shows and movies are you watching? Where are you getting your news sources? Do you find a pattern in the ethnicity of your entertainment stories? If you find (like I did), that they are overwhelmingly white, I challenge you to make a conscious effort to diversify! Start with a book written by a person of color. Or watch a tv show or movie where the person of color is the main character, and not just an auxiliary character. There is a whole world of literature and entertainment that is open to us. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what you experience. Your entire world view might just start to shift as well. Inshallah.
