These were the words of a fifteen year old Tanzanian student
of mine. I rarely take pictures of my
school or village but recently decided to create a slide show for the school to
view at my going away party. While most
students were enthusiastic and loved being photographed, there was one boy who
refused. This was the conversation that
ensued:
Student: Madame, please don't take a picture of me. I don't
like my face.
Me: What do you mean? You are a handsome boy.
Student: I know how American people are. You will show these pictures to your friends
and tell them I look like a monkey.
Me: That's not true.
I think Black people are beautiful.
I want to show my family pictures of my students and my village.
Student: American
people are liars.
Me: I am American. Do
you think I am a liar?
Student: Of course.
I found this conversation unsettling for a number of reasons.
I immediately thought about the racism
that this child has been exposed to and the prejudice of those who relegate
Black people to the status of animals. I
thought about how he has internalized Westernized conceptions of beauty to the
point where he actually thinks his face is ugly. I also thought about the absolute distrust
and disdain he feels towards American people.
What had happened to this boy to make him hate the country I call home?
Then I got angry. I
realized that because of my nationality, he felt that I couldn’t be trusted. I had never lied to him or hurt him in any
way. In fact, this boy is extremely
intelligent and I had spent my afternoons tutoring him in English, letting him
borrow my books to read, playing English games, etc. I had gone out of my way to help him and he
had the nerve to call me a liar? I was mad and my immediate reaction was to
stop tutoring him. If he couldn’t trust
me, why should I trust him?
I quickly moved from feelings of anger to frustration. My own Black identity was being questioned
yet again. I have always felt a strong
sense of African-American pride and two years of being called “White” by
Tanzanians had taken its toll. The
insanity of race and racism frustrated me.
I wondered how I could possibly think he looked like a monkey when my
closest friends and family members shared the same pigment. It seemed irrational. I wanted so badly to make him see that I was
like him. I was Black too. The racist white Americans who told him that
he looked like a monkey have spent generations degrading and dehumanizing my ancestors
and continue to oppress Black people in America. Why couldn’t he see that? How dare he put me in a group with racist
white people? How dare he call me white?
It was at this moment that I had to do a quick self-assessment.
Why did I consider being called white an insult? Do I also associate whiteness with racism and
prejudice in spite of the wonderful intimate relationships I have with
Caucasian people? I imagine that if I
were a white volunteer, the conversation with this student would upset me. I would want him to know that not all
Americans, not all white people are racist.
Not all white people think he looks like a monkey; in fact, many think
Black people are beautiful. I realized
that I needed to have a more intimate discussion with this student. I wanted
him to see that Black people come in all shades and that all shades are
beautiful. More importantly, I wanted to
teach him about the dangers of over-generalizing and stereotyping American
people.
The conversation that resulted was one of the best cross-cultural
discussions I have had in Tanzania. I
showed him pictures of my friends and family in an effort to teach him two important
lessons. First, Black people come in all
different shades, shapes, and sizes. All
are beautiful. Second, there are many
white people that love, respect, and value those with darker skin. Not all Americans and not all white people
are racist. He then told me about his negative
experience at a primary school run by white American missionaries and how they
told him he looked like a monkey. He
told me they made him feel ugly and stupid so he hated them as a result. He said that he thought all American people
were the same but after our discussion he realized his mistake. Then he turned to me with a big smile on his
face and said: “Madame, I know you don’t think I look like a monkey. I look like your brother. Will you take my picture?” I happily reached
for my camera.
