“Nan, look! He is black”, the little boy called the attention of his grandmother pointing to my son. My ears played a little trick on me, I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my son or something else.

There were three of them: a young lady, a boy and an older lady. The boy must be between the age of seven and eight. Presumably, the younger lady was closer to being the boy’s mum and the older lady the grandmother.

I wasn’t sure if the ladies heard the boy the first time he pointed to my son describing the colour of his skin and clearly, the boy wasn’t sure if his mum or grandmother heard him.

He looked at us and tugged on his mum’s dress. In this effect, he screamed as loud as anyone could hear, “Mum, see he is black”, pointing with all eagerness.

What He Saw In Us

For a moment, I stopped breathing. I didn’t know what to do. A larger part of me wanted to look the women in the eyes and question their parenting skills, but, I timidly let go of the thought. The quieter and stronger part of me took over as always.

The little boy wasn’t ready to give up. He became ecstatic. He tugged and pulled the older lady drawing her attention to us. The women looked at us slyly and in unison, they pulled the boy over to the edge of the footbridge they stood on distracting him. We couldn’t look at one another. The parents felt exposed, I felt oppressed and humiliated.

It was an awkward situation for everyone involved. I couldn’t explain what really happened. There was no provocation of any sort. I was a bit apprehensive standing near this party with my children while the little boy explained the colour of my boy to his parents.

The reaction in me was a mixup. I scrambled to the car park, frantically rummaging through my bag for my car key. I heaved a euphoric sigh of relief as we all sat in the car. Safe at the dark corners of my car.

The Mind’s Game

It was clear the boy didn’t see us as people. To him, we were just some kind of objects to describe. The similitude was that of a little boy showing off his knowledge of numbers and colours. From the little boy’s voice, I could sense a hint of achievement. He was able to identify the bad eggs out of the good ones.

The drive home was unusually quiet. My chatty children decided to ruminate over the event of the day. As I began to think of the best way to start a conversation I heard my son say, “…but, I didn’t do anything to that boy Mummy”. I had nothing in reply but a nod and a weak smile.

I seldom think I am prone to racism due to my attributes

The Pain I Feel

I am not new to acts of racism. No. I am rather kind of used to it, but to hear a little boy publicly described what he thought to be the colour of my skin was a bit difficult to digest. I thought of the boy and his action.

The shame and guilt of his mother’s face were apparent. I wonder what they discuss behind the closed door.

I seldom think I am prone to racism due to my attributes. First, I have a skin colour different from the majority in the community I live in. I don’t like to call myself black because the colour black doesn’t describe the colour of me.

Secondly, I have an accent. Though, I speak and write perfect English but, my accent might not settle in well with some and lastly, I am a Muslim with hijab to show my belief.

These facts had made me grown a thick skin to many forms of discrimination, but sometimes it hurts so deeply.

Our Children Our Opinions.

Our children reflect who we are. I have nothing against this little boy, he is just a child. However, what you plant in today’s child, you reap in tomorrow’s adult. This is the time for positivity. Speaking well of people (in the presence of children) irrespective of their race, colours, intelligence or denominations is far more important than the opinions we hold on to.