How Come You Have So Many Asian and White Friends?
A few weeks ago, I was seated at a bar in Harlem when a girl I know from the neighbourhood approached me.
“Girl, what are you doing tonight? How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good love, what’s up?” I replied.
She sat down, ordered a drink and we proceeded to talk about the mundane, quickly updating each other on our lives and commenting on the day’s news.
Then she asked the question I’ve unfortunately become accustomed to hearing:
“How come every time I see you, you always got some Asian girl with you or some white girl?”
“You’re a brilliant black sister with so much knowledge and life experience, how come you don’t hang with your own kind?” she continued.
My reaction was that of a blank stare.
I mean, where could this question possibly be going? What would be the appropriate answer? Do I go defensive or do I let it ride?
Here’s the thing, said lady was very concerned that I was not getting in touch with my “blackness” and was squandering all that I had experienced as an accomplished black woman, on my non-black friends.
There aren’t enough Michelle Obama memes to convey the amount of side eye I give to these kinds of accusations and assumptions.
My home-girls are my home-girls regardless of the amount of melanin they posses.
I will not justify my choices because they are simply that: my choices.
However, I do empathise with the lady at the bar. Really, I do – I totally get it.
I’m a dark skinned African girl who “talks white.”
I like Lissie, Mumford & Sons and date outside my race.
I eat “bougie” vegetables like asparagus and brussel sprouts (as recently told to me by a fellow black man).
I spend too much time doing “white things”; things like hiking and laying out in the sun on a Sunday afternoon.
I follow Jeb Bush on Twitter, though in my defence, I believe it is important to know thy enemy and RT his ridiculousness with corruptible hashtags.
Being called the “Whitest Black Girl” is not new to me, I was just naive enough to think that after high school, these stereotypes would disappear.
I guess I thought that once we grew up, we would realise that seeing the world through the eyes of someone who is not like you offers a perspective that challenges you to think differently about the world.
Sitting at that bar that night, I felt more disappointment than anger because of what she didn’t know, and what I knew would mean nothing to her even if I shared it because her mind was already made up.
I was born in Kisumu, Kenya to two incredible African parents who both grew up in very improvised villages with dreams of seeing the world. All they cared about what getting an education, a great job and heading out to see the world.
They made it their utmost priority to expose their children to just about everything and everyone.
Before the age of 13, I had lived in four countries and went to five different schools. My childhood friends were Indian, Pakistani, American, Peruvian, Korean and German.
Because I was shy, I spent a lot of time reading. I also was very attached to my father who was a part-time political advisor, and I spent hours following him around his office. He often said that my vocabulary was affected by the political references that he and associates threw around, and that I became nosey by interrupting the adults in the room with questions like, “what does resolution mean?” or “what is conflict?”
My mother was a huge world music fan and would bring home tapes by Fela Kuti, Lucky Dube, Bob Marley and this one American woman that I was completely obsessed with called Mariah Carey.
What I’m trying to say without getting defensive is this:
I have friends who don’t look like me or think like me because it’s not about the colour of their skin, but more about the character, integrity and respect they posses. I am a product of my upbringing and from as early as I can remember, my parents taught me to value every single person I came into contact with. People must like that about me.
So maybe the question isn’t “Why do you have so many asian and white friends?” but “Why do you have so many friends?”
(Note from the Editor: Many thanks to Joan Erakit for this guest post. Joan is a 30 year old Kenyan born writer living in New York City with a passion for two things: shoes and books. Joan is easy to please – put a collection of essays by Gabriel Garcia-Marquez in front of her, a bowl of pasta and some comfy pillows and she will love you forever. Joan believes in creating community, writing as a way of understanding and kissing. You can find her weekly musings here: http://joanerakit.com/. Or to read more about Joan click here. To become a house-mate and contribute articles to The Glass House, click here)
