Oyile Javan

Yes I know   My skin is black  My shoulders broad  My chest wide  My lips wide  My hair kinky   So don't remind me  With your blank stares   And  rude gestures  Did I ask you to grade me?  Did I ask you to degrade me?  Did I ask you to berate me?   You may think that white is gold  But I am the cradle to your kind  Without me you are nothing   My gold in your central bank  My silicon in your chips   My coltan in your phones My artefacts in your museums  Then you look down upon me?  Ignorance is bliss they say  Without me you are NOTHING!

Recently I attended an interview, the panel was all African, not that I am an African supremacist but my hopes were high on steroids. I had the papers and experience. My opposite number was a white backpacker on tour. I was wrong. Things took a turn for the worst when I was made to wait outside the interviewing room. ‘’What are we waiting for?’’ I asked the lady.”Ouh, just be patient, ‘’she answered. It would be worth noting that coincidentally,top on my reading list that week was Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah. Minutes later the white boy arrived (let the hunger games begin) the lady who had ushered me in the makeshift lobby ran as hell towards the boy (poor thing).”We have been waiting for you,” she said. Schmoozing and acting all nice like she had just come into contact with a V.I.P of some sort. I wondered if I was say in Brussels, Copenhagen or London for that matter and was the only black interviewee in the room would I be accorded the same priority? My hopes fell knowin...