When Chimamanda Adichie said that she did not realise she was ‘black’ until moving to the USA, she had come under fire at the time.

 

But all she spoke was the truth.

 

You see, in Africa, the predominant colour is black. Infact, you are not aware of the construct of of being regarded as ‘black’.

 

As she rightly shared, what one grappled with was ethnicity, religion and gender (and may I add, classism, as a souvenir of colonialism)

 

This was my story too.

 

Finding out only when I moved to North America for the first time almost a decade ago, that there was such a divide occasioned by colour of skin, which even when not openly spoken about, had undertones in almost every daily interaction I experienced.

 

With time, it hit me hard that it was a bit more difficult to find people who looked like me (and farrrrrrrr more difficult to find the ones who spoke like me) in certain corridors of influence. Thus, more difficult to find people who could identify with my experiences, and be the plug I needed to grow roots in this new world.

 

Yes… there were black lawyers. But I could hardly count on my fingers the ones I knew who flexed in my particular field of interest, in the city I lived in.

 

A dashing young articling student here. A lone black partner there. Speckled like rare gems, in varying spaces.

 

The Firsts. And very often, the Onlies.

 

We rejoice with, and clap for the Firsts and the Onlies to have broken ceilings; to get to places their ancestors had visions about, but like Moses, hardly crossed.

 

To have ‘representation’, no matter how slight, is a blessing of sorts (if you may call it that). If channeled properly, it signifies the hope for more people who look and talk similar to one, to climb up the ladder, and also take their seats in the corridors of influence. Thereby beating inequality one rung at a time.

 

But oh, the burden.

 

To watch every step, and be hyper-vigilant against being human and falling beneath perfection.

 

To smile uneasily at ‘jokes’ passed around, careful not to laugh too much, lest some passive-aggressive shade that could mar the of year review be thrown. All the while on mental high-alert for hidden nuances.

 

To sometimes be the token face of E&D on every company billboard or powerpoint slide, and be strung into meetings one had no business being in. Other then be evidence that the team is woke.

 

To have the weight of every black ‘discourse’ be ‘resolved’ in accordance with your wisdom, and be automatically responsible for Tyron, who works in IT… because, black.

 

This Black History Month, I say to all the First and Onlies; it is OK.

 

Yes. Despite the responsibility, it is foremost a blessing for the ones for which you pave the way.

 

But beyond being the First or the Only, you are human.

 

Breathe.

 

The world was ok without you. It’ll be alright after you.

 

Happy Black History Month.

 

Paz,

 

Meg.

Photo Credit - Jeffrey Erhunse via www.unsplash.com