I was about thirteen-and-a-half-years old when I found out I was also a colour too. Months before, at immigration, travelling to America, I had already learned I was an alien.
Family came to visit us in Jamaica and took one look at my river-drenched hair and persuaded my parents that going to foreign would be better for me. Woodland foraging, killing chickens for dinner, and being a pro with my slingshot were, surprisingly, not considered good for girls at the time - by those looking in.
I flew from Jamaica with my aunt, who I was going to live with, having only recently celebrated my thirteenth birthday. We missed our interconnecting flight en route to our destination, as immigration kept us waiting. I had to be fingerprinted and have the most horrid photo taken for my new Resident Alien Card.
We stayed in a motel at the airport to wait for our next flight and I tried pizza for the first time.
It tasted like I was eating a piece of road that had been shat on by a car engine! How old was that meat? It’s called pepperoni you say? And the cheese, when was that cow milked?
I didn’t touch another slice of my first pizza that night, as it was dis-gus-ting. Instead, to stave off hunger, I sucked on a couple of ketchup sachets I had collected as a treat from the flight over. I was used to these as relatives always brought us condiments when they came back home for a visit.
So, how did I find out I was also a colour too?
I’m in Junior High, Washington D.C. I’m leaning against my locker, which I could never open, when bully walks over. She started talking about me looking at her funny in class.
I couldn’t for the life of me remember when that happened. All I kept thinking was should I go all Jamaican on her and give her a tracing (a piece of my mind / tell her about herself), but before I could do that one of my new best friends walks over.
She is wearing Levi’s blue jeans with a black t-shirt tucked in and a pair of fresh white high tops. Her hair is shaved at the back and straightened at the front into a half-bob haircut framing her face, semi-hiding her large circular gold earrings. She is carrying her purple Velcro-fastened writing folder and textbooks, with a pencil case on top. She was only about 14 or 15, but she was our senior, so…
She’d obviously clocked what was happening. Bully stops speaking and looks at her. My friend looks bully in the face and speaks: “You can’t bully her. You are darker skin than her. She’s browner skin.” I looked at bully expecting a comeback, as that was a silly put-down I thought, but she walks off. I’m now looking at my best friend smiling at me and I’m thinking…I’m judged by my colour too? Like WTF!
Being Jamaican though, and in the early 90’s, it was more like: “Mi a colour too? A wha’ di bumbo-claaaaat!”
I often replay this scene over-and-over again in my mind. It was an important one now looking back.
I felt uneasy and intrigued at the same time about my new discovery. I spent a lot of my lunch break in the library learning more. I also watched a lot of films and chatted to the adults about it all - they had some interesting views. I started seeing people by their race.
I am Black.
Several months before, I was jumping off mini waterfalls into the deep below.
I thought of Jamaica and now saw all my old classmates and friends in a different light. Most were Black, but suddenly I was differentiating everyone. I thought of Kirk in our class, I saw him as mixed-race. Andrea, she is white-Jamaican, or is she maybe mixed-race? We lived near each other, along with my other best friend, Solomie, who is Black. When we played ‘hair salon’ together, we didn’t know what to do with Andrea’s hair as the braids wouldn’t stay in unless we elasticated the ends. She is different.
It was all too much rethinking people. I felt like an alien.
I was in a bubble before finding out I was also a colour too. It was gooooood. I often go back to this feeling in my mind. Blissful.
Yes, colourism exists, but luckily growing-up in the countryside in Jamaica I’m grateful my parents shielded me from it. And racism. A privilege my young children sadly don’t have.
Before colour, I knew my neighbours and friends by their names. Now I notice their differences as well!
When did you realise you were also a colour too?
Best wishes,
Sherry Collins
PS. Looking through my old passports to double check on dates for this article (I’m usually not good with dates), it has really come as a shock to me that I didn’t see other people in terms of their race or colour until I was around thirteen and a half years old - I always thought I was younger. In terms of years, it’s the equivalent of all of primary school and the early part of secondary. It makes sense to me now how those years of not knowing helped shaped my views of people and the world today, which are often seen as different. I don’t think I’m alone in this though.
PPS. I stayed a little while longer in America and then I made the decision to leave, aged fourteen. I came to the conclusion that America was not my friend and I was moving to England. My grandparents lived there. It must be better, right?
