White. What picture does that word bring to mind? Most likely, clouds, fresh linen, or snow. Or perhaps a baby in a Nestlé commercial, porcelain skin, blue eyes? Or young Heidi and her blonde braids if you’re Swiss?
That term has definitely never applied to me, whether in my native Lebanon or in my adoptive Switzerland. I was called brown, deeply tanned, sometimes “suspiciously” so, swarthy, you name it, I was inevitably labelled as different, “pigeonholed”. In Lebanon, such a distinctive feature was undesirable and I was often encouraged to stay out of the sun as much as possible ‘to keep from turning too black.’ Not so in Switzerland, however, as my ‘exotic’ looks were a plus.
Imagine, then, the shock I felt in Barbados when I was called White. “Who, me????” As white as all those light-skinned tourists from Europe? “How about that? I’m white!”, I reflected with a chuckle. In fact, I had the feeling that skin color didn’t matter one bit, judging from the kind, warm welcome I was given by Bajans*, some of whom soon became close friends, thus making me love Barbados even more.
At first I felt relieved that the old labels no longer applied; yet I soon realized that I couldn’t completely escape the stereotyped vision Bajans have of white-skinned tourists. Wait, I thought, that’s not who I am! I am no wealthy, capitalist man-hunter! And I am thirsty for local culture. So why was I being treated differently? Was it just my “whiteness”, my “Caucasian” ancestry as political correctness calls it? And what about my black hair and “suspiciously” tanned skin? " Was I no longer “dark” all of a sudden? Couldn’t people just forget about my origins, my race, my skin color, and judge me for my personality and my actions, without pigeonholing me?
Little by little, I’ve learnt what it feels to be part of a minority, on two counts: as a white person in a country whose population is 98% black; and as an oddity among whites since all my friends are black. Some hackneyed names such as stigmatization, discrimination, racial profiling have begun to take on a different meaning for me, although I’ve never heard them used negatively towards me. I just happen to look different from everyone else over here.
The more time I spend in Barbados, the less I feel “different”. I feel genuine interest and acceptance on the part of Bajans* as they watch me merge into local life. I finally feel I belong with them. Maybe I’m the one who has changed, whether it’s the way I walk, dress or look around, the way I approach people. Integration is something you earn, and skin color really doesn’t matter much.
And then one day I flew to Martinique and stayed with a white family. Stay tuned…
*Note: Bajan (pr. bey-djun): noun or adjective, derived from “Barbadian”.
Translated by Edna Setton
April 28, 2020