Travelling while Black

They tell you in the guidebooks what to expect if you're gay or if you're a woman. Hell, they need to do it for if you're recognisably black.  

 "Americanah" - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi

Ain't this the truth! Ain't this the truth!

*Ms Adichi speaks a whole lot of truth in Americanah, by the way.*

So while I am not sure what is going on with my life and what 2015 will hold, I still have to at least think of vacation ideas. It's bad enough being a solo traveller - having to find places where a solo traveller feels safe and secure. It's bad enough being a solo female traveller - having to be extra careful in the choices you make as it relates to hotels, travel etc. But add being black to that - it's just a whole other thing altogether.

Travelling while black is real - the notion that this is an issue, I mean. Shopping trips to Miami and New York - no problem. It's like being at home. London - such a melting pot that it's rare that I actually feel like an alien. Londoners ignore everyone - black, white.  But there are some places where I have felt totally out of sorts. The Rome experience to this day, always makes me a bit upset.

Vacations should be carefree for everyone.
This is not me, btw

Luckily, the good experiences outweigh the bad, and though there have been several moments of "wtf!" on my trips, I think they usually had less to do with racism and more to do with:

Plain and simple ignorance - Dear Europe - all black people do not live in Africa. Ever heard the word "diaspora"? I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked to say an English word in "my language". For example - old guy in Florence, Italy. Worse yet, when they find out I am not from Africa, then I just HAVE TO BE American, even if my accent does not quite fit the bill. "Ever been to New York?" Yes, I have been to New York but that is the magic of air travel. I am not American. If someone actually knows where Trinidad is after I tell them, I give them a virtual hug because it is almost miraculous! I am truly an oddity which takes me to the next point...

Curiousity - I heard someone refer to the impolite staring as "rarism" as opposed to"racism". In some of these quasi-homogeneous cities, people like me are a rarity. You are like the raisin in the bowl of milk so they stop and stare and you check to make sure you don't have something in your nose or that your fly is not open because the stares are so pervasive and invasive. Worse, in some cities, the black people there tend to be immigrants, and in my experience, they were usually street vendors/scam artists or hooking. Enter well-dressed black woman and it's like "wtf"? You have now confused the people even more with your bourgie blackness. For me it is always a bit bizarre, especially coming from a place where people stare at you cause they like your ass and want to grab it. Noone stares at my hair, or wants to touch it here, but it is a real phenomenon in some of these places - one that is not cute no matter how clueless or genuinely curious the people may be. There should be a guidebook for residents of these cities - Dos and Don'ts of Meeting Black People for the First Time.

They are just naturally unfriendly and surly - The haterade may actually have nothing to do with the colour of your skin. The people sometimes are just plain unmannerly, unfriendly, uncouth and as we say in Trinidad, "just not on you" and have no damn "broughtupsy".Sad to say, London always comes to mind. They are just a special breed of homo sapien - totally divorced from the reality of life all around them, but when you get around the cold exterior, and get them to put down the iPhone, they can be lovely people. In some places though, they are just like this - fullstop.

But don't get me wrong - travelling while black has the real issues of racism. I have had bus drivers ignore me, waitresses take their damn time to serve me and when they did, I got none of the smiles and sweetness the white customers got. I have had border control brace me as though I were some kind of hoodlum, and Customs stop me to search my luggage and when I looked around, everyone else being searched looked like me. My friend had the cops called on her as she was pumping gas at an isolated gas station behind God's back in the US. And let's not forget another friend who was followed to her hotel room by a hotel employee, accosted and told that prostitutes were not allowed in the hotel.

And it does not matter that we are not drug mules or international escorts. It does not matter that I am educated to Master's level, have a very nice job, with paid vacation and international medical coverage, and zero desire to stay past the time on my visa. The fact of the matter is my passport looks strange and worse yet, I look strange cause I am dark skinned, with dark brown eyes and dark hair. Oh, I'm black. Right. Forgot about that.

But it would also be unfair to paint one city black (pun very well intended) because of the idiocy of a few. Most of my experiences have been positive and a city like Rome, for example, is so beautiful that you just ignore the nonsense and try to make the best of it until you can get the hell outta there. Not to mention I had the chance to meet a friend for the first time ever, so there were a lot of good memories from that trip. I have learnt over time to not miss the opportunities in front of me because of any stereotypes or prejudice people may have. That's on them.

That being said, I am not sure where to go this year. My tolerance levels for nonsense are at an all time low, and it would be nice to travel among more people like myself, but still - the world is my oyster so onward! Ideas still welcome, keeping in mind the solo, female bit as well.

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Hair Raising Experience in London Town

The trininista hair trifecta -
shampoo, conditioner, leave-in conditioner

N- for Nubian. Adventures into Nubian Hair would be a great way to describe the past hour of my life.

When I did my first degree in Jamaica, it was the norm for Trinidadian students to have 2 suitcases - one with clothes and books, the other with food - the story was that food was too expensive in Jamaica, so we "imported" via suitcase our own foodstuff. Now while London is not cheap, I was surely not about to forego warm clothes for a box of Cheerios. Besides, there are enough bargains around to ensure survival.

However, there was a mandatory shopping stop before getting on that British Airways flight. Pennywise, or as I call it, the Trini Boots. Being a black woman/nubian queen is a unique experience in many ways, but coming to London without products was not an option. White people seem to think we can all use the same things and be happy and beautiful. We cannot. Black hair alone is something totally different to white hair, so packing my stuff was not vanity, but necessity. As for London, I had been here before and experienced the nashiness of some of the black women here and did not aspire to look like any of them. So I can attest that half of one suitcase was filled with lotions, hair products, makeup etc.

Seven months later, I am still pretty good for beauty stuff but I realised last week that I was on the last of my post-shampoo leave-in conditioner, which can mean the difference between crackly and dry hair and shiny, healthy looking hair. Not wanting to wash my hair this weekend without it, I prepared myself for the wild adventure that is Lewisham. Now, I go to Leiwsham pretty regularly but I generally hit the shopping centre and Tesco, and that's it. Nothing against Lewisham mind you, cause my mother can attest that even in Trinidad, I avoid the high streets and prefer to get what I need within the confines of a mall - be it Gulf City Mall, Price Plaza, Grand Bazaar or West Mall. So nothing against Lewisham...

However, Lewisham is no Oxford Street either (which I also avoid 90% of the time in favour of Westfield Mall) and the characters I spot on the streets are cringe-worthy to say the least. I saw one white girl, with about 30lbs too much around her midsection in a bra top and low rise jeans, and I cringed.

In any event, my hair needed salvation so I traipsed through the streets in search of a hair products store. Even despite the fact that I knew they would not have anything, I escaped into a Super Drug hoping against hope that they would have what I needed. Nada. So on I went.

After 5 minutes of cat calls from Africans and Jamaicans, and some really odd looking white girls, I found a store - Shabba Hair & Cosmetics - and as I entered, the harps started playing. There it was - a plethora of black skin and hair products, a virtual Pennywise at my fingertips. It was great. Made me wonder then, why if such a store exists, do some of these girls look so pop-down! Nah man. I had expected to get something close to what I normally use but I got EXACTLY what I needed. And more...

Like the two cross-dressers looking at wigs. It was a scary sight let me tell you. Here were two black men - not men who could possibly pass as women - but two big, black, ashy elbowed black men, in lace front wigs, lipstick and heels. To say I was amused would be an understatement. The Indian dude showing them the wigs did not seem too aghast. This seemed like a normal thing for him - to show two black men the best he had to offer in wigs and weaves, and hair sheen. Very polite they were though as I said "excuse me" in an effort to pass. Not to mention complimentary, commenting on how lovely my eyebrows were and asking me whether I waxed or threaded. Too funny.

But at least I head to Cardiff with shiny hair on Monday, cause I am not quite sure how many black people I will find there, but at least I can well represent the sistas (and wannabe sistas)!

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No Paparazzi, please

There are the cute blue heels that are my avatar.

I am really tickled to be one of the Editor's Picks on Bloggers.com today. I mean, there is no red carpet, no flash bulbs, no prize money (the worst part...lol), but it's cute. So yaay me.

It's pretty amusing to realise 1). how many people actually read my nonsense, 2). how many people actually enjoy reading my nonsense and 3). how much I enjoy writing my nonsense. It is the one part of my day that is not frustrating, and is completely mine.

So thanks to everybody who ensures it is not a solitary experience.

Sephora, Florence, Italy - I had a time in here

Almost every day I get my email from Sephora, torturing me with the specials and sales, and I ask again, Why isn't there a Sephora in London? I mean, y'all taking this Britishness thing too damn far, man. I cannot get NZ cheese. I cannot get American Cheerios (I don't like the Cheerios here - half sweet, half plain, in one box. Gimme 100% PLAIN Cheerios!!! OMG!). And now I cannot get Sephora? Every trip to Miami, the PT and I must hit up Sephora. New York - Sephora. I made it a point to visit Sephora in both Paris and Florence cause it is just one of my favourite shops ever. London - great capital, home of the queen. Why? Why?

Maybe it is for the best since I can barely afford food, and have to resort to getting excited in Boots. Needless to say, I needed a toner and bought one from Boots - a Boots brand and I selected it after reading the reviews, because let's face it, if I was going to buy a toner for under £2, I wanted to make sure it was not going to set my face on fire or burn off my eyebrows. Really one cannot go wrong with witch hazel and tea tree oil.  I had never had a toner that was a blend of both and never used a cheap toner either, but kudos to Boots for this godsend product. Easy on the skin and easy on the pocket. It is as good as a toner can get. Take the free plug, Boots.

A winning beauty combination, ladies. On a budget!

Of course I also got my Mudd facial mask and it really does give a boost of beauty confidence. How I survived this long with just soap and water, and my L'Oreal scrubby wubby is a miracle. I am now leaving it for "special" occasions, which means I may never use it again. Kidding kidding.

Still, Boots is no Sephora. Let's just keep it real now. I am glad I had the presence of mind to pack at least 6 months' supply, though it might really be 8, of cosmetics for black, tropical skin, or I would be a hot, nashy mess. It was a funny story at lunch on Sunday, about a black girl who was using a brand that shall remain nameless, bought here in London, and thought she was swanky, until she went back home to her black friends, and everyone asked her what on earth she was using to be looking so grey. lol. The darkest products here were clearly not dark enough for her but funny that noone thought it would be nice to tell her this. I guess they thought her face was grey? lol. Thank God for Pennywise - the Trini Boots - and my stocks. Looking grey is not an option. Funny that there are so many black people here and still a dearth in GOOD black beauty supplies (emphasis on "good"). Hmmm.

I'm working on my second assignment. As I said before, blogging is the only time I am not frustrated or vexed. lol

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Friday: Let's Talk Beauty (Vanity)

I've not been sleeping well. I go to bed at oh...3am..latest was 5am, and set the alarm to wake me up 6 hours later, so I can start a new day on this assignment, and 3 hours later, I am wide eyed. Not so bushy tailed. Here I am again - 3.5 hours later. Unable to sleep.

This of course means I look like utter rubbish. I have been "self medicating" with shea butter moisturiser to try to put some zap in my skin, and a lot of cold water splashes to minimise the puffiness under my eyes. This does not bode well for the evening where I am supposed to go out and look cute. Back home this would have meant - strong coffee, and a quick facial. You know, when they put you under the steamer and you fall asleep, and then the gentle massage takes you to dreamland, and then they leave the face mask on and go outside to check on other customers for 20 mins and you doze off with a smile on your face. By the time you leave, after your super nap and the relaxation, not to mention exfoliation and super skin crap that you know is probably not much better than the cheap crap you can get in the beauty aisle, you're positively glowing.

Fast forward to me, in fluffy socks, with puffy eyes, with not even enthusiasm to go to the kitchen, much less go outside. But go outside I must. I have been excited about going to good ole Boots all week. That's pretty sad considering all the things I could be excited about. But I'm a girl. I realise I miss being a girl. I went on their website to look for super skin crap to pre-empt a rubbish look this weekend, and realised all the stuff I had been missing. lol. Revlon. Clinique. L'Oreal. And when I saw this, I was super excited. I wanted to run down to Boots right then and there - at 1am.

I have not seen this in forever. This is not a plug for them cause noone pays me to rate their stuff - though they should. But this mask is awesome. I used to use it waaaaay back in the day, when I still wore a school uniform and when school was fun. Actually my mum used to use it, and I used to sneak into her beauty bag and steal some. Then one day she came home and felt like "masking" and the bottle was empty. She was not amused, but my skin was awesome. So when I saw Boots had it, I got so exciiiited. Maybe it can magically transform me from this

It's true. I am not too far off from looking like this today

...to this in...oh...10 hours?

The lovely Gabrielle Union

That would be a 21st century miracle but, I am optimistic. I continued browsing the website, looking at girly stuff. Fun. My fave nail polish is £8 though. That kinda killed the excitement somehow. It's the same way I felt going into the mecca of Trininista aka the M.A.C. store and knowing that £11.50 single eyeshadow was not as important as food. Sigh. How life has changed.

I always remember a man asking me what my favourite brand was and I said without blinking - "M.A.C.". He goes, "Oh you're an Apple groupie." Stupid. lol. Don't you guys know?

Courtesy M.A.C. - Freshwater

Hope everyone has a beautiful Friday. We all deserve to feel pretty and beautiful today. And if I don't get my mask in my local Boots, I am gonna burn the store down.

Smooches.

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Black is Beautiful, Vybz Kartel. Orange is for sundresses.

I really loathe statistics. I am being forced to do stats over these 2 weeks - all day, every day, for 2 weeks. Whose squirrel did I run over in a past life? I will not even fake it. I hate statistics. I will not pretend to be a good sport about it. I just hate it.

Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I really wanted to say something briefly about Vybz Kartel. For the non-Caribbean readers, Mr Kartel is a popular dancehall artiste from Jamaica who has recently been in the news, not for his music but for his appearance. Why? Well, he used to look like this - nice, unspoilt, sexy chocolate brown skin...

Now he looks like this -

I mean, the dude was not God's gift to women before, but now he is simply heinous. The phenomenon of bleaching in Jamaica, where black people feel some deep desire to apply bleaching products to their skin to lighten their appearance does not seem to be going away. With the transformation of Vybz Kartel from a healthy looking, not too bad looking chocolate coloured man, to this Frankenstein looking creature, I am really saddened that so many black people turn to such silly measures to try to keep up with European standards of beauty.

Vybz, in his interview on a radio station said he was not trying to distance himself from being a black man, but rather - and this really amused me - it's a "style". He said he put in orthodontic braces not because he needed them but because it was a style, and in the same way, he has been turning orange because it is a fashion statement. Vybz - a fashion statement is a pair of hot jeans, a new piece of bling, maybe some new shoes. Bleach is not a fashion statement. It's just being dotish. He went on to comment that he needed to highlight his numerous tattoos which were hard to see on the skin God blessed him with, so he just had to bleach so the world could see his artwork. Amazing.

The horrible thing about this is that he is a public figure in Jamaica and contrary to what he believes, people emulate him and people like him. So when he does this to himself, for whatever reason, he is simply propagating the belief that light skin, or in this case, nasty looking orange skin, is hip, happening and beautiful. I am even more disturbed that this gentleman is going to bring out his own line of "cake soap" - bleaching soap. So what are you telling young people about being black in this world?

It's the same issues I have with women who live by the frickin' weave. I call them the rebound weavers - women who cannot live without a weave; who jump from weave to weave; whose between-weave periods last less than 12 hours; who feel their beauty is somehow not enhanced when they are not wearing fake hair. Nutters. I have no problem with a black woman who wants to wear a weave or braids or what have you, for a new look, or as Vybz says, as a "fashion statement". Hell, I have two awesome wigs that I bust out when I feel the need to vamp it up. I love my wigs. I paid good money for my wigs.

But when noone can remember what you look like without fake hair sewn on to your head, or you get offended when someone else points out your weave to people who may not know, for example, white people, then I have a serious issue with this. What are you afraid of, or are you so consumed (and confused) by this image of beauty - of long, flowing hair around your shoulders, no matter whose head it came from, that you cannot fathom walking the street with your short natural hair. I remember how annoyed a friend - a male friend - was when I did a weave - seriously un-im-pressed.  Some men really find it unattractive, not to mention a form of false advertising. It can also be the butt of jokes, ridicule and disgust when you wear a weave. And though I have never been in one, let's not mention getting into fights with women - the first thing they go for in any scenario is the hair, so imagine wearing a weave in a catfight, and worse being in a catfight with dozens of onlookers. The shame. lol. These are among the many reasons, why I do not "ride or die" with the whole weave thing. Take me as I come, buddy. A dude told me this week, he does not date women who wear glasses. If that is the best he can come up with, then me and my $4000 glasses will be alright.

But I am really concerned that black people are questioning the beauty that they have. I see so many people running to the Caribbean to lie on a beach all day to darken their skin, while people like Vbyz "is a style" Kartel is destroying his beautiful brown skin with cake soap. And then you have the Naomi Campbells and Hollywood's black fashionistas who encourage little girls to want a weave for that straight haired look - the "good hair" look. This is a whole other argument which I know I had discussed on another forum, and this is all getting me rather pissed off, so I will stop.

And while I like to cast my eye on  a nice red man, this ain't it, Vybz. I would really like to know if there is any woman in her right mind who will now watch this orange, crusty looking Vybz Kartel and want to be seen with him. I am also curious - did he bleach everything????? I know the saying is once you go black, you never go back, but what do they say about once you go orange? I am really not willing to find out.

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