Hard to put a finger on. Never any hard evidence. Only hard feelings.
.
It’s the way
a yt middle-aged campus security guard asks me to swipe my access card again…
which I do…
after which he yells at his black colleague to “check her photo again”.
.
.
.
Or the way I ask my yt classmates if anyone is interested in collaborating on a project on biochar…
only for them to form an all yt group on…
you guessed it…
biochar.
.
.
.
Or being asked to speak on a panel to newly admitted students…
or to moderate a career talk…
definitely not (?) as a token.
.
.
.
Or having to, as the only African in a class of 40, give your whole class (professor included) a news flash that South Africa indeed has pharmaceutical manufacturers…
“yes, even in the 2000s!”
.
.
.
Or having to hide the titles of your radical Africa-focused books when you read on the subway…
because you know…
🧊
.
.
.
Having to carry and defend your people’s honour,
always…
can’t just be oneself…
you don’t get to just be….
people like you don’t get to just be…
in their multitudes.
