If It Wasn’t For White Allies, I’d Have Lost All Hope

Like guardian angels, they have helped me along the way

I was in the 12th grade. My white sociology teacher handed me back my first test since I’d started his class. I rushed through the pages to see my score. There at the bottom of the last page was an “A”. It was the first time in my life I’d ever gotten an A. I was 17 years old, I beamed with pride. That was the first time in my life that a teacher made me feel I could be successful. I’d spent years in that school — in between racist children and insensitive, horrific teachers. The teachers in particular had written me off. I remember the headmaster saying to my Mum:

“Sorry, your daughter is too stupid, she isn’t going to make it in life”.

Those harsh words still ring in my ears. How can someone say that about a young adult starting off in life? I’m not even sure they realized how destructive those words could be. I remember my Mum telling me:

“They might not believe in you, I do, and I know you’re going to do great things. You’re going to be a great writer someday”.

I held on to that, it kept me from sinking. It gave me the courage, strength, and resilience to keep on going.

And then there was the white oral expression teacher in college. I was as shy as shy could be. I used to hide in closets when people came to visit my Mum. I was terrified of being on display in any way shape or form. I hated public speaking with a passion, it frightened me.

But that teacher taught me how to become a public speaker — he taught me techniques to get over stage fright. Today — or shall I say pre-COVID-19 times, I speak to audiences of 500+ people. I still get a little nervous when I get on stage, but when I start speaking, especially about topics that I am passionate about, like access to health, poverty alleviation, gender equality, Black Lives Matter, or antiracism, my voice takes on a life of its own. For a second, a minute, an hour, I feel like a fish in water, totally in my element, you’d never guess I was one of the shyest persons ever.

And then there was the all-white university board who struggled to understand why I had done so well in my last two years of high school but done poorly from Grades 5–10. They gave me a chance to explain what had happened in a personal essay.

I took to paper to explain the racism and bullying I was subject to during that time. I lay my pain and trauma on paper and they told me they were so moved by my story that they offered me a place at their institution. As a shout-out to both my sociology and oral expression teachers, I decided to study sociology and mass communications. Three years later, I graduated with an honors Bachelor of Arts degree in both subjects. I’m still not done with academia though, I’m aiming to get a Ph.D. in social justice in the near future.

And then there was the white girl from Vancouver who helped me when I was stranded in South Korea. I’d gone to visit my boyfriend in Singapore over Christmas break in 1992. At the time, I was in university in Canada. Traveling back to Toronto on my Sierra Leonean passport, I was told the Canadians had changed immigration rules and that I now needed a Canadian visa along with my student visa to enter the country. I was broke with not a penny in my pocket. The South Koreans told me I couldn’t legally stay in Seoul, they’d have to imprison me if I attempted to stay. I remember sitting at the airport with tears in my eyes not knowing what to do. This white lady who had overheard my conversations came up, loaned me 500 Canadian dollars, and said:

“Let me take you to the Canadian embassy in Seoul so that you can get a visa. I’m sure it’s just a formality”.

And it was. She borrowed me the money and as soon as I got back to Toronto, I sent it back to her.

And then there was the time I was looking for a job in Switzerland. I was getting frustrated — no one seemed to want to hire me because I was too black or too young or too something that they didn’t like. So I went to work at TGI Fridays, degree and all. I needed an income and I’m not a proud person.

While I was taking a white guest to her table one day, she commented that she’d heard me speak perfect English and wondered if I’d be interested in a job at her Swiss watchmaking company. They were going global and needed English language promotional material. A few days later, I was hired and working alongside her. It was an exciting and creative time and I loved every second of it.

And then there was the time I applied for a job in a large multinational company. The white HR manager was professional and well talented — something that isn’t always a given. She believed I was too senior for the role and went out of her way to re-assess the role to a higher functional level before hiring me.

With that higher level came a lot of perks. She wanted to see to it that I was treated equally. She lived and breathed the company code of being an equal opportunity employer. She opened the door to a brand new world for me. She used her white privilege to help me.

And then there was the white manager who believed in me and promoted me to a leadership role. He gave me an opportunity to show what I could do. He gave me a taste of what it felt like to lead a team, and even though it was only short-lived, I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

So yes, there have been white allies that have helped me. There have been white people that have looked past the color of my skin, into my character, my skills, and my qualifications to see who I truly am. It is thanks to these allies and to my family that I am where I am today.

It is this support group that has kept me going despite the discrimination, racial microaggressions, setbacks, and other obstacles that have been put in my way as a black woman in today’s world.

I know that allies exist, and that is why I am so convinced that racism, sexism, antisemitism, and all the isms can be dismantled. I have hope for a much better world, and it is this staunch conviction that keeps me going. Every. Single. Day.

Thanks for reading my perspective.