My Own Dark Continent

Sometimes you have to use racism to your advantage, suggests JOSHUA MUYIWA

Illustration: ANAND NAOREM

MY MOTHER was born to a Malayali man and a Nepali woman. She married my Nigerian father and I was born. I have lived in Bengaluru for 20 of my 23 years – I speak passable Hindi, Kannada, Nepali, and Tamil and can ask for hot water and bedding in Malayalam. But apparently, using all social markers that help me pass off as Indian will not prevent me from being seen through race-coloured glasses. While doing my mass media communications course in a reputed college known for its ‘discipline’ and moral policing, each student was given a handbook of rules about attendance, the hair-styles they can sport. I was once called to the Vice-Principal’s office and told off “for spreading African culture” because during lunch break I had hugged a girl.

My first job interview was for the post of a copy-writer with an ad company. The interviewer said, “Don’t take this badly, but in my experience Africans are lazy and irregular and if we hire you, you must be hardworking and punctual with your work.” I didn’t take the job.

While at Chennai Central recently, I approached the security guard for directions to the right platform. Instead of providing me directions, he called an inspector and the inspector asked me to produce my passport. Being used to situations like this, I had it handy but in spite of possessing an Indian passport – my bags were searched for drugs while I was informed that “Africans are (in)famous for carrying drugs”. When no drugs were found in my bags, I was given prompt directions to the platform but no apology.

These are just three incidents, but through a normal day in Bengaluru, I encounter just as many incidents – I have motorists yelling out, “Blackie”, I have schoolchildren and college students greeting me with, “Yo, Niggah!” and at nightclubs, I have random strangers walking up to me and asking me, “Can you hook me up with some weed, coke or E?” but I have learnt to laugh it off.

The irony is that being constantly reminded that I am of Negroid descent has made me look into that culture, reading its literature, being inspired by its poetry and finally coming to terms with the fact that I can wear bright, neon and fluorescent colours. Also, though the discrimination has stung, I have learnt to play around with my identity, getting a lower auto rate because I pretend to hesitatingly speak Kannada or Hindi, or always being remembered because I look different and therefore getting good service at restaurants. It has also helped in my career as a journalist — people tell me about their life in detail because they feel I won’t understand, thus bettering my stories. I might not belong to this country because I was born here, but because “I” — my politics, my identity and my perspectives — was born here.

Muyiwa is a journalist and works for Timeout Bengaluru