The Color of my Skin

I've never really given much thought to the color of my skin before I moved to Namibia. Some people may say that is because I am white and have not truly experienced discrimination because of skin color. In some ways, those people may be correct, but I attribute it more to the upbringing that I received from my parents. Moving to the south after they were finished with college, both me and my sister were born in Louisiana, the state with the 6th largest proportion of African Americans.   With diversity like that, I never really looked much into skin color. At a young age I had best friends that all looked differently than me. In fact, I even went through a phase where I thought I was not white. I had an imaginary boyfriend named Leroy and some really awesome baby dolls that did not resemble me at all. 

At 10, my family uprooted and moved to Saudi Arabia. Once getting there, I was surrounded be even more ethnicities, colors, etc. It was beautiful. Each person brought this sense of uniqueness to the group, and although I was at an American school, there were people from all over the world in my classes: Thailand, Saudi, Lebanon, Canada, India. You name it, someone was there. 

Shortly after living in Saudi, we headed home to America and became residents of Texas, a state even more diverse than Louisiana. Again, I was blessed with amazing friends from all different walks of life. We may have physically all looked differently, but at the end of the day, we were the same. We had the same interests, were in the same school groups, liked the same shops, had similar humor. We were more similar than different. 

Now that I live in Namibia, I am indeed  aware that I am white. Almost weekly I am reminded of that. Whether it is through words like oshilumbu, catcalls from the men, or stares from small children and grown adults, I am aware that I am very different from them. I really don't notice it though until this happens. When I see the people I live with at my homestead, I see family. When I see myself with the students, I see people I deeply care for. Not a difference between us. Because of these reasons, I get upset when other people point out that Im white. Does it matter?  I have men frequently tell me they love me based on my skin color, and the thought that always goes through my head is that I could be a total jerk. I could be an awful person, so no you do not love me.

 I know that for the Namibian culture, white and black integration is newer, especially since independence only happened a short 23 years ago and many Afrikaners still stay in their own niche.  Therefore, it  is sometimes odd for people in town to find out that I live in the village, on a homestead with a Namibian family. 

At the end of the day, at the end of this blog, at the end of this year, I guess I just want it to be clear that I do not care that I am white and I do not care if you are black. Both are beautiful. What I do want people to know is that, I respect you for your heart, for your determination, for the respect you also give me. I may be white, but I am so much more. My students and family may be black but they are so much more!