Hello, my name is Shonda Foublasse and I am half Black with a random mixture of Arawak Indian, French, and Spanish to make up the other half. My mom’s family roots are in southern Georgia – her great-grandmother was a beautiful slave named Precious. My dad was born in St. Lucia, a part of the British Virgin Islands, and raised in St. Croix, one of the American Virgin Islands. When I am in the States people automatically assume that I am simply African-American because of my complexion and the texture of my hair. That’s a fair assumption, I suppose. But in India, the people thought I was Indian, in Cambodia some people thought I was a tribal Cambodian, and in Malaysia I was thought to be Malay Indian. Often times, people did not believe or understand that I, a woman of a darker hue, could be from America. In fact, most of the time when I talked to people they thought all of America was made up of White people. The sad thing is I can’t blame them for thinking that given the incredibly skewed portrayals produced by Hollywood. My squad mates know not what to do other than smile and laugh.
But what about me? As I prepared to leave for Africa I wondered what my experience would be like. My squad leader, Erika, had been to South Africa before and when we talked about hair care she said that I shouldn’t expect to see too many women wearing their natural hair because they were, unfortunately, heavily influenced by Western expectations and apartheid. I wondered if the people of Seronga would give me a chance. I was looking forward to them having hair like my own because, honestly, I was tired or all the people of Asia putting their hands in my crown. I wondered how the apartheid of South Africa had affected the people of Botswana. All I knew was that our hosts would be a White couple from South Africa. What had been their experience with people that look like me?
So, now that I’m in Africa, what many people of my complexion call the “mother land,” what have I seen and experienced? Here’s an excerpt from my journal…
11/30/15 at 7:32am in Johannesburg, South Africa
God, You are sooo good! I’m in awe of the beauty of all these African people around me. Tall, short, skinny, fat, thick, huge butts (seriously!), short fades, long braids, locs, afros, relaxers, twists, wigs, traditional native clothing, mainstream outfits, styles I don’t know how to classify, and they’re in all different hues and ages. I am literally in awe as I sit here in this bus station and look from side to side. I feel such pride and joy as I listen to them speak in their native tongue, laugh and smile, and love on one another. I feel an urge to defend and protect them from the stares and judgements of some of my squad members. When we arrived yesterday someone said, “What a welcome! They’re not very nice here. Not a good first impression.” My first thought in response was, “Why? Because they’re not fawning all over you like the people in Asia?!”
It’s clear to see that everyone here takes great pride in how they dress and carry themselves. I met a lady working in a bookstore in the airport yesterday and she smiles just like Ma. They look so much alike that when I showed the woman a picture of Ma she said, “Oh my goodness!” before laughing in awe and saying “That is my sista!” She insisted that I show the pic to her coworkers and they were shocked, too. I was sure to take a picture with her so I can show it to Ma at some point. Everyone I’ve spoken with has been kind and open toward me. I’ve read that this wasn’t the case back in the ‘60s and ‘70s so I wonder how it’ll be once we reach the villages. As nice as it is to see so many faces like mine, I cannot help but feel like I don’t belong because we don’t have the same native language and I know no one. They look at me and I can see the question in their eyes as they wonder, “Why is she with all those white people?” Somehow I think I am less real because of it (being with them). It’s worse than walking into a room full of white strangers and being the only Black person. I know how to act in that situation because that’s been my whole life. But how does one act in a land where some of her ancestors may have come from, yet have nothing else to go off of? …
