BLACK WOMAN

How Does It Feel to Be a Black Woman Beyond Rocky America?

There’s lots I don’t know about you…

Black Mums for President!

Black is black is black. Woman is woman is woman. And professional is professional is professional. But what’s the deeper story? I’m always wondering. Always curious.

How would I feel if…

Let me be clear from the beginning. I’m a kind of young (32) mixed-race woman in Berlin. Grew up in Britain. And went my own badass way when I was 16. My parents cursed and cried. I was impossible to handle. Between 16 and 32, I calmed down a little and had a baby.

She’s 5 now. My daughter May.

And my life turned out okay so far. I’m working several jobs. A forklift truck driver in a distribution center. And a coder in Web3 projects for sea solutions. Satellites. Seaweeds. That kind of stuff.

I got my chances. I blew many, many chances. And new ones arrived.

I often don’t know who to love. Or hate. Or what to strive for

My biggest problem in life is the fact that I can always see things from another person’s perspective. I see where they come from. They are like big dogs barking at the top of the stairs and I see their little hearts inside their bodies. Scared. And lonely. And barking to be seen and heard.

I have a problem getting angry at people.

I mostly get sad. So sad.

And then, I don’t know what to do with myself. Or what to do about the sadness in the world. And the toxicity of course. That too. All those undegradable microplastics. We consume and breathe in a credit card of microplastics every week right now. And it makes me sad for May and her generation.

COVID is one thing. But microplastics are horrible for lungs too. It can’t be healthy. So I work on seaweed for our fashion and cosmetics. Healthy stuff.

Black in Europe

Berlin is modern and young. No one really cares about my color. Maybe because Germany had WWII and a huge guilt-complex about that, there’s not much to fear from police. Although, it’s getting tougher for black men now. There are many black refugees. And anger is rising all around.

I read your stories in this publication. And I get self-conscious to be honest. Johnny Silvercloud accepted me as a writer. But you will most probably think I have a white voice.

I read you. I hear you. Do I understand you deeply? I really don’t know

I’m British/Nigerian, you know. Grew up in Scotland and Cornwall. Sea. Always sea. And now Berlin. City.

And although I use the f*** word sometimes for my feminist articles about religion and flying around on a rock in the universe, I don’t know about n*** words. Or Yoruba words. Or African-American slang. If I would know your slang, it would be from TV.

Slang would sound as silly from my mouth as from the mouth of a white Karen.

“This leads to the coinage of terms like akata which is a Yoruba word for “wild cat” — used by some African immigrants to describe some African Americans, or African booty scratcher which African Americans use to mock Africans.” — Mwangi Wanjau in Why Africans and African-Americans Don’t Get Along.

I read you. I hear you. Do I understand you deeply? I really don’t know. You tell me in the comments. Be honest. Tell me where I go wrong. I’ll learn.

Black = Black Is Not Black

Life in Europe is definitely different from the USA. My huge black and white family however gives me role models. And they are funny on both sides. Let me give you an example.

My uncle T. had a huge problem with his blackness in his days as a young bloke. Only black boy in the village. He was always the cigar. He made up a story about being an Aboriginal from Australia instead of half Nigerian.

And people bought it. He got confused as a person though.

Who does he want to be? White like my mum? Really black like my dad? Or an in-between like me? Or a native Australian? Which in Australia is probably as bad as anything else when it comes to racism.

My biggest problem in life is the fact that I can always see things from another person’s perspective

Is racism placed-based? Is racism as bad in villages as in cities? I must say, European cities and young people are better for my skin color than villages full of old, conservative folks.

And not all cities are the same either.

How’s that in America? It there still a big difference between North and South? Is ingrained racism worse in cities? Or villages? And what about normal citizens or gov officials? Do the latter live in ivory towers? And are they more racist and sexist because of it?

I would like to visit your country someday and observe.

I discuss these things with my friend Note. He’s an Asian music guy in Berlin and not yet sure about his sexuality. He experiences racism too. But in the music scene there’s more competitiveness on being different than the other way around.

No one wants to belong.

Because it’s killing for your ‘image’ and earnings.

White Sexism

Another example from the white side of my families. My white auntie L. is a professional woman working in science. Between men. Only men. She often sighs that her life is so hard.

If only she could have been a man.

But then, she had this conference with 50 men or so in the audience. And she told me proudly that it had only taken one intelligent question from her to get noticed.

Being the odd-one-out gave her advantages too.

She also told me that during a sales training, the trainer (a man) had told her she would always have to prove herself 20 times more than any other. But it would have been worse if she would have been a black woman.

He told her: “Don’t moan and get on with the life you want to live. You only have one life. Don’t waste it on sighing and wishing things were different.”

She took his advice. And did well for herself I guess. Although she has partner problems. Too ‘harsh’ for a ‘real woman’ perhaps?

And then I try to relate all this to my life. And I don’t know what to think. Who to Bee to Beelong? Hihihi. My name in real life is Bonny Wild, but for writing purposes, Bee is a good choice I think. Gives me opportunities for word jokes.

I often don’t know who to love. Or hate. Or what to strive for.

So, I just go on living. With my May. And some people will think I’m privileged. And they’ll be jealous. I’m the only person who really knows how hard it has been so far. But would it have been less hard if I would have been white?

I really, honestly, hand-on-my-heart, don’t know.

Professional Blackness & Femininity

To be honest, I have more troubles like my auntie L. than those of my uncle T. I personally think black women are more accepted than black men in white circles.

Less dangerous? Less competition for the silverbacks on the rocks? Thinking, ah I don’t have to take her seriously? She doesn’t expect me to? She’s no competition?

Women are more judged on beauty than skin color, I guess. I work among men as a forklift truck driver. And they either hate my guts because they think the boss favors me. Or they like me and make sexist remarks.

My biggest problem is that no one seems to believe about me being clever. I think it’s because I confuse them. They can’t put me in a box.

I’m not a ‘normal’ kind of woman.

When I’m angry, I’m called the angry wild girl. When I’m soft, they want me to act like their mum. When I’m normal and just me, they think I’m sexy. But I’m not. I’m clever. And I don’t say that to boast.

I just observe and come to conclusions. Everyone can. But when I express those conclusions, I’m considered a smart-ass. And if I have good ideas, they can never be my own because I’m a forklift truck driver, aren’t I?

Are women less dangerous? Less competition for the silverbacks on the rocks?

F**k that! I’m ME. All of me. I’m Bee.

And in the meantime, I’ve made real friends here in Berlin. Young people like me. And older colleagues and relatives who are kind and want me to learn. Like my uncle O. He’s an astrophysicist. And without him I would not have known any of what I know and think about all day.

All the others I just try to avoid.

There are still Nazi’s here. Barking dogs and silverbacks on top of the stairs. I see their small hearts and feel pity for their loneliness and their stupidness. Or does that sound elite? The stupid-word?

Some of the old black and white folks really help me become even more clever than they see me Bee. I think they see me for who I am. They don’t judge.

Not being judged feels good.

My real friends are mixed. Or black. Or white. Or Asian. Also LGBTQ+ It doesn’t matter so much among my friends. It’s as if we just don’t notice the outside so much. We just are… and we try to be kind. And sometimes kind doesn’t work. And we fall out. But that’s more about character and topics we talk about than about skin or gender.

Women are more judged on beauty than skin color, I guess

Bottom line is that we try to see each other underneath our skins. We have the same troubles. Some more troubles than others. But we work together to make a kind of a better world for kids like my May.

Tell Me About YOU

Enough about me now. My main message online is: Black Mums for President! Everywhere…

I read that Medium goes even more global next August. 12 new countries accepted in the Partner Program. And 50+ more the rest of the year.

I really hope AfroSapiophile will make a dent in racism and sexism by telling us real experiences in all kinds of ways… I will promote your publication online in other social media. So, we can reach more folks.

And I will add my voice to your American voices. The Polarized Rock, we call your place. Or places. States. North and South. Village and city. I really hope to visit you one day and observe the differences.

Buy me a coffee. Let’s chat…