Black British or African-Caribbean? Who am I?

Black. Nubian. Queens 1999!

Standing at the school gates I was chatting to another mum who asked me where I was from. I informed her that my grandparents were Jamaican, and before I could finish what I was saying she said “Aaaahhh your English”. My son just interrupted me, because I was ready to get into a debate about why I’m not English , but fortunately I was saved because I really do not identify myself as such. I have been brought up to regard myself as African - Caribbean even though I have only visited the Caribbean through music, books, television, and the experiences of others and Nigeria, Africa, fairly recently for Christmas in 2009.

I personally feel that the other racial description for myself, 'Black-British,' lacks belonging; especially where the 'black' is concerned. It is an ambiguous term, and identifying myself to a place of my racial origin is important to me. The European history, which I was taught in mainstream school, did not offer some of the answers that I had in my young mind about my own cultural identity, which I was faced with, every time I looked in the mirror. Some of you may argue that as I, along with my parents, was born in Britain, then I am Black-British, but I say, ‘A tree without roots cannot grow’. Perhaps if Britain were as accepting as some people feel, perchance my need to identify with my heritage would not be as important to me. Such a need for cultural identification does not evolve without sources, I'll explain.

At the age of 16 I entered the shockingly multiracial environment of Hackney, East London. Prior to this I was brought up in a predominantly Caucasian area of Nottingham, and was amongst a handful of children from ethnic minorities, throughout my primary and secondary school education.

When I was around five, I remember walking to my local corner shop without a care in the world other than the ten pence mix that I was about to purchase. Then I heard it- "Black Jack! Oi, Black Jack!" Looking across the road I saw around four teenage boys, laughing and pointing at me. I remember not being able to comprehend the significance of such an event, and nonchalantly told my horrified mother, as I chewed on the Black Jack sweets when I got home.

On other occasions I would play with my next -door neighbours, who were from a Polish-English background. They would frequently call me Paki because of my mother's Asian partner, or Medusa due to my long single-plaited hair. I remember knowing that it was wrong, but I was an only child, and the thought of losing my playmates over racism that I was too young to comprehend, was unquestionable. I happily continued to brush their long blonde hair, whilst dreaming of becoming a hairdresser, so that I could style such hair every day, disregarding my own hair that was a source of amusement.

   

At infant school I was introduced to many new friends, yet my experiences with racism did not diminish. I remember eagerly awaiting my friend  invitation to her birthday party as she handed them out in the classroom, observing the sad look in her eyes when she came to me, and was forced to say,  “My dad doesn't like black people, but don't worry, I'll bring you some cake”. Children are like sponges, absorbing all aspects of the world. I didn't see an image of myself on birthday cards; the books I read did not tell a story about someone who looked liked me. I was a child who was too black to go to parties and so ultimately became withdrawn.

My mother wanted me to be confident and proud of my racial origin, acknowledging the racial ignorance's within society and its effects on me. At the age of eight I was sent to the Steve Biko Saturday School, which supplemented my maths and English education, whilst also educating me about African/Caribbean history, which I was not taught in mainstream school. It is there I learned that African inventor’s and historical figures existed, and that African, Caribbean and African-American history did not begin and end with slavery. I never had  an African/Caribbean teacher in mainstream school, but at Saturday school, African/Caribbean teachers were the only majority. With this new found knowledge I learned that members of my race were and continue to be, teacher’s, scientist's, astronauts, explorers and doctors, and not explicitly singers and sports men and women, which I predominantly saw in the media. I most importantly realised that an achievable path had already been laid for me, and all I needed to do, was walk it.

   

A very different child emerged, one who would question, "Why do we say blackmail?". Fortunately, most of my teachers liked my inquisitiveness,. often pondering with me the negative perceptions equated to 'black', the racial description, most people gave my race.

At secondary school, I set out on a one girl mission to implement black history into the classroom. Every presentation I tendered had something to do with Africa or the Caribbean, albeit history, music, or literature, set amongst the classroom chorus of "Here she goes again!" but I was undeterred and my Caucasian classmates would listen intently, affectionately calling me, 'Nubian Queen', until we left school in 1999.

Reflecting on my experiences, I am thankful for every one, good and bad. I am happy that I know aspects of European history, yet proud that I have my own history and land with which to identify. Without identification, would I be sharing my experiences with you today? So BDSS ladies what were your childhood experiences when dealing with race? Were you ever confronted with racism? What do you feel comfortable with when ticking those application forms? Readers please share your views! I believe that ‘African Heritage Month’ should not just be celebrated in October, so look out for my monthly posts on brilliant figures that weren’t in the history books at school, as well as topics relating to people of African descent.