I’m finally about to discover a second Caribbean island! A friend from Paris is off to see her family in Martinique and has asked me to join her there. I bet she’ll gasp with surprise when she sees the drastic transformation I just underwent in Barbados: thin black braids are tumbling down my back.
Fort-de-France Airport. My friend barely mentions my African-style braids or my heavily tanned skin. Oh well.
My hosts are a Béké family (a Béké is a descendant of early white French settlers). In spite of their gracious welcome, I soon sense that the mood on this week-long vacation will feel quite different from what it’s been in Barbados. Something feels slightly off, and I can’t quite define it. Never mind, I look forward to the novelty. “This is great! I can use this for my sociological study of the Caribbean and find out how white people in Martinique feel about enslavement. Or about the reparations issue or any "compensation owed to the descendants of enslaved persons.”
Not so great for my hosts, it would seem. They never expected a Caribbean mixed-race guest. And how would they, since I hadn’t told my friend about my new appearance! So much, too, for what I had envisioned for Chapter Two of my sociological study. Békés, you see, usually don’t have black people over as guests. Oh, they are fond of them, but to each his own. That’s just the way it is.
“Hey, wait, you’re mistaken! Why do I make you uncomfortable? I’m NOT black. Not even part black, honest! I’m just very, very tanned, and those braids are hair extensions, and I have never had them before, and besides, they hurt so much, I can’t wait to get rid of them and look like my old self again!”
The more I emphasize my white credentials, the worse I feel: what if I really had black ancestry? Would it make it okay for my white hosts to be annoyed by my presence? Why did any tension evaporate the minute my whiteness was revealed? It isn’t just unfair, it feels outrageous.
Discrimination, stigmatization, racial profiling. White in Barbados, Black in Martinique. Lucky me: in my case, it’s just role-playing and has no bearing on my day-to-day existence.
A few days later, I feel the Békés have learned to trust me and like me. They spontaneously open up about slavery and the reparations issue. My black friends in Barbados, evidently, wouldn’t agree with their point of view. My hosts tell me how well-disposed they are towards their black compatriots and how hard they try to make them benefit from their white ancestors’ heritage. They also reveal that they feel threatened as a minority - quite justifiably, it turns out, as they have experienced racially motivated violence. That’s when I realize that all is not simply black or white.
It’s time for good-byes and outpourings of emotion. “Let’s get together in Paris”, we promise, not knowing that some sneaky virus will get in the way...”. Back in Barbados, however, I feel so relieved to feel at home again with “my” crowd and to go unnoticed thanks to my mulatto skin and my long black braids.
Translated by Edna Setton
May 6, 2020