Posted By Afro-Awesome Guest contributor
On Mar 9, 2016
By Thembelihle Mashigo
I use to feel special having many white friends
Until they cracked black jokes
Until I was called a special black
Until I no longer laughed at the black jokes
I use to feel special being the only black
Until I was the spokes person for all black persons
Until I was the only one who saw and felt what I felt
Until I was the only one who would speak to black things
Until I was the only one who saw black humans
They made me feel really special because my tongue could curl easily, wrap itself so lovingly, so gently around those English words
Until I heard the giggles
Until I heard the whispers
Until I saw their faces
Thick African accent, what is that, what are you saying, pardon me please could you repeat yourself, SLOOOOOOOOOOOOWER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!
I tried but my tongue was hard
They did not know how many times I had read aloud, how many times I had read those words, scrunched those pieces of paper, and mimicked their VOICES in my head,
They did not know.
They did not know how many times their brothers, sisters; mothers and fathers had tried to soften my hard African tongue with their ceaseless corrections, giggles, whispers, faces
I use to feel very special being able to pronounce those English words so well
Who needed them white people when I could police their language for them, Whip them black tongues into order!
I use to feel very special
Until I tripped and fell over those words, tripped and fell again in front of those white faces
Until I lost track of my thoughts betrayed by my black tongue, giggles, whispers, faces, Shame…
I use to feel very special when I had the straightest slickest black hair that blew in the wind, ever so lightly
I use to feel really, really, special when people thought I was coloured, mixed race, I would smile
Until I grew tired of the stinky chemicals
Until I grew tired of the burning
I grew tired of the pulling
I just grew tired of the black stylist complaining about my “kaffir” hair, hair so tough you could use it as a “skirpoort”
I use to feel very, very special being the only black in a senior position
Until I had nothing to do
Until I was left out of meetings
Until I was asked to pour the tea, or make the food or hold the tray
Until I was paraded around foreign donors as, they told my story
Until that old white woman wanted to wear my black skin only to dispose of it later as she walked back into her white life
Until I was no longer a human, until I was a prop, just a black prop, ON and OFF, ON and OFF, ON and OFF
I use to feel special
Until I wore isiphandla, giggles, whispers, scrunched faces
It stinks
Who wears animal skin
Giggles, whispers, scrunched faces, pulled noses
I use to feel special
Until I opened my skaftini and the smell of tripe and samp filled up the room
Did someone fart?
What is that?
Giggles, whispers, scrunched faces, pulled noses
I use to feel special
Until they would not eat, my food but I would eat theirs
Until I could not share a drink with them but I could with my brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers
I use to feel special
Until they couldn’t pronounce my name
Until I did not have a Christian name or English name whatever name as long as it was not my name
Until I was that black girl
Until I was that black girl that looked like every other black girl
Until I was no one
Until I was no longer Thembelihle
I was Thembi
Who the fuck is Thembi?!
I use to feel really, really, special being the only black
Until no one mirrored my experience
Until I felt very lonely
Until I, my mouth was closed shut
Until I couldn’t fight
Until I could no longer justify what I saw and felt
I use to feel really special
Until I no longer felt special
Until I just really felt uncomfortable
Rage came crashing in, a steam train of rage
I died, I died for a while
A white death
A black death
Anger whispered in my ear and I found my voice, I found my Black voice now I feel black special, I giggle, I smile, I dance, I pull faces, we dance. I am black and special.
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