Coaching at RashidatO.com | Social Activism at Whereveryougolove.com
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I wrote this post quite a while ago, but I’ve struggled to catch up in posting my back logged posts. Internet connection was part of that struggle, but I also needed so much more time to process the events happening around and to me.
I wonder if Martin Luther King felt this way, but I hate talking about racism. The delicacy of the topic and emotion that it brings is tiring. But if no one talks about it, the topic becomes taboo. I can’t let this be taboo though. Racial reconciliation is important and worth fighting for, so I pray that we all continue to talk about it.
Zambia was an interesting month for me. For the last couple of months, I’ve tried to articulate what made it so hard, but fell flat and usually angry every time I tried.
I think what shocked me most in Zambia is that it became so real that racist behavior is not segregated to America or to white people. It’s one of those things that is obvious and can’t truly be attributed to one place and culture, but when I think of racism I think of America and in America it is predominantly whites affecting blacks and other minorities. But the reality is that cultures make assumptions about other cultures and single another culture out based on various ways to discriminate all around the world.
I hate to be cliche, but dang! “Can’t we all just get along?!?”
I did not experience this in Zimbabwe, but in Zambia it does not seem to be common knowledge that there are black people outside of Africa… and to be honest, that lack of knowledge bothered me.
In Zimbabwe, immediately after hearing me speak, the person would say “you aren’t from around here”. And as the conversation progressed, it was not a surprise to the person that I was from America. In some cases the person would ask me what America is like or they would share that they wanted to go to America in places where some of their friends and family are already living.
But not in Zambia….
I’m not sure it was the aggression that sometimes happened or whether it was the ignorance, but it bothered me in Zambia that I didn’t feel welcomed.
Our walks through the market usually consisted of market sellers literally pushing their products in our face or men grabbing at my teammates. As we walked through the market one day, my teammate, Katherine, says to me “I like walking with you! The catcalls stop when I walk with you!” We laughed, but the sad part is that on some days that was true and other days not so much.
I’m not even talking about how the people stare… and stare… and stare. That seemed normal and happened even with the locals. But I am referring to how people scream “mizungo” at my white teammates as if there is a proper way to respond when a person screams “hey WHITE PERSON!” in their local language.
Some of the people on my squad shrug their shoulders and pay it no attention, but it bothers me just as much when a black person uses a word like “cracker” or “mizungo” just as much as when a white person uses the word “nigger” or as one Zambian affectionately, excuse my sarcasm, called me “mizungo black”.
Back in the days of Civil Rights, that would have been the equivalent of a black person calling another black person a nigger or maybe more likely to be the equivalent of an “Uncle Tom”. It hurt me when it was said, but it’s taken me a couple months to realize that it hurt so much because I expected to experience less racism, if not at all, in Africa.
It goes a step further when we get to the school we are working at and a teacher says “yes, hello!! You are fat!” as a greeting to one of my teammates. Her feelings were hurt and I hurt for her. This wasn’t a racist comment, but hurt just seemed to pile on top of hurt. On the way home our ministry host apologized as the comment made even him uncomfortable.
As we go to the market on the street, I walk past and people holler things at me as well. As it happens to be spoken in English occasionally, I started to understand that they are asking me questions. I realized, regardless the language being used, the locals are asking me ‘where I am taking the “white people”.’ It made me chuckle when the man asked me because I was in the back of the group being navigated to restaurant; it was obvious I was not leading the group. “I’m leading them nowhere” was the best response I had after being caught off guard, but I was bothered by the lack of respect for teammates simply because they are white.
It’s even more interesting when someone speaks in Tonga or Icibemba and I reply “I only speak English”. Some nod their head in understanding, but others repeat their statement over and over again waiting for me to respond. It gets even better when I get the facial expressions that say ‘girl, stop lying! You know you one of us! You Zambian!’
I am black, but I’m not Zambian.
I think what bothers me is the level of assumption that constantly happens. Another word that could arguably be used to describe what’s happening… stereotyping? As I continue to travel around the world I am learning that assumption is the biggest fuel of racism and discrimination.
In one conversation, the person said “I thought there were only white people in America”.
“Nope, there are black people in America. There are actually a lot of black people in America”.
I turned to my teammate to share and we had a laugh.
“But really, how could they not know that? At least with media and all?” he asked.
“Well as far as missionaries goes our ministry host confirmed white people is all they have seen. I am the first black missionary they have seen.”
A couple days ago I went to Shoprite to get some groceries and an employee stops me.
“You are from America!”
“Yes, I am.”
“Welcome to Zambia!”
“Thank you!”
“How are you liking the people of Zambia?”
It was a really hard question for me to answer because I’ve spent the whole month struggling to see Zambia and its people the way God lovingly sees them.
“We have got to work with a lot of people since we have been here for missions.”
“But how do you like the people of Zambia?”
“Working with the people has been very interesting” was the most polite and politically correct answer I could come up with off the cuff.
“I want to go to America. But when I go to America, you won’t kill me right?”
My jaw dropped as I replayed in my mind what I thought I just heard her say… Did she just say kill?!?
“Oh you mean like slavery times? Because slavery is over in America.”
“No, I heard that black Americans kill Africans.”
Again, my jaw dropped!
“Um, no we definitely don’t go around killing Africans.”
“So, if I come to America you won’t kill me?”
“No, of course not! Africans are welcomed”.
What do you say after that?!? Talk about the most awkward conversation ever! I asked the woman her name, Priscilla, and wished her a good day as I inched away to the next aisle.
But as comical as this conversation is to me, I can’t help wonder is this another act of racism assumption towards Africans from black Americans that instigated this conversation in the first place?
So story after story I discriminate against you and you discriminate against me. But where is the happy ending?!? How do we all become one family?
IS THERE ANYONE WITH CLEAN HANDS?
Is there anywhere in the world with people who have not dirtied their hands with fear, discrimination, and oppression of other people based on the color of their skin?
I’m realizing the answer is no. Correction, there was One.
“The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)”
??John? ?4:9? ?MSG
Jesus’ hands are the only hands that have not touched racism. He is only one who is and has never been lured by sin. He is the only one who’s love is so purely of the Father that no matter the color of our skin or any other distinguishing physical appearance that He wants to be near us. He wants to love us. He wants to connect us to the Father.
Unconditionally
Lord, you are changing my heart and giving me a desire to fight for Your love and reconcile all the colors of Your Body around the world. Help me to continue speak when I’m weary, to smile when it’s hard, and wherever I go to extend that unconditional love that you have given me regardless of my Gentile status to Your people around the world. You are the answer to racism. Your Love is the answer to racism. I desire to share it wherever I go… love…
