Deconstruction Perceptions: A British African in China
As I sit here reflecting, writing, and reflecting some more, it’s been approximately two weeks since I left Shanghai. With just over three weeks until my return to China’s concrete jungle, I think back to the most vivid apprehension I had before I set off for my 11 months in the Middle Kingdom — the apprehension from which this account is inspired: the perception towards black skin in China.
For those that don’t know (and apologies to those being reminded of this for the 654th time), I am of Tanzanian/Seychellois descent and was raised in the United Kingdom. Having grown up in a predominantly white community, I was quite accustomed to being reminded of my ethnic difference from age 6. I’m sure my counterparts would have also faced a similar line of questioning that made sure our difference was known: “Can I please touch your hair?”; “Is it true that everyone lives in huts in Africa?”; and “I bet you’re really fast, aren’t you?”.
Despite the various experiences I had living in the United Kingdom for the past 17 years, nothing could prepare me for what was to come once I had touched down at Pudong International Airport, Shanghai, on 30 August 2015.
Before landing in Shanghai, I was well acquainted with the stories of my fellow Afro-Caribbean’s suddenly acquiring the celebrity status of Will Smith or Oprah Winfrey with the hoards of Chinese locals wanting to take pictures with and of them. Though, I never really believed this would be the case given that Shanghai is now one of the world’s international hotspots and that the United States’ President for the last 7/8 years has proudly embraced his black skin- I thought the novelty would have worn off by now. I was wrong.
I met the first four months with constant senses of frustration and disbelief when I encountered instances of Chinese locals taking photos of me, talking about me, and just straight-up staring at me. Whether it be at The Bund; my local shopping district; or even on the metro on the way to a Cuban salsa night (yeah, I know, go to China and learn Cuban Salsa? I’ve learned to not second-guess life anymore), the feeling of being under the spotlight was perpetual. Coupled with seeing the multitude of ‘whitening’ body cream and countless instances of locals using umbrellas on the hottest of days to, as it is said, avoid tanning their skin, I couldn’t help but ask myself why this was the case.
Was the above the hangover of the great migration of people from the predominantly Chinese countryside to the cosmopolitan cities? Was it passive-racism? Was it yet another form of modern day ignorance? Was it that China is still adjusting to its new position on the world stage and the influx of foreigners into the country? Whilst a positive answer to any of the questions posed above would give anyone looking for a relaxed, stress-free break a good reason to avoid crossing paths with China, once one begins to untangle and comprehend this enigmatic culture, the country becomes host to one of the most interesting histories that a single country has to offer.
Having spent months discussing this issue with Chinese locals, I’ve come to realise that whilst the unwanted attention we attract may, indeed, be a disruption to our daily lives and be perceived as derogatory, I begin to view this perception with fewer negative connotations, and more as an opportunity to educate our Chinese friends on our own pasts and histories.
I remember the first Chinese friend I made in Shanghai telling me that I was the first black person she’s ever spoken to before proceeding to ask me almost every question associated with black/African stereotypes under the sun, including whether I’m able to rap and body pop (neither of which I have ever excelled at nor will ever attempt again). It was a pleasure to have taught her more about my own African heritage, as oppose to more a reminder of the lack of knowledge many people hold regarding Africans and Africa.
The most frequent set of opportunities I’ve had similar to the above has been the many correspondences I’ve had with local taxi drivers who’ve rejected the notion that I’m British as well as African in disbelief that you can be black and British. Imagine their shock when I went on to tell them that my Seychellois grandmother was of a Chinese/French mixture.
Whether the instances included in this piece have confirmed your own apprehensions of China or encouraged you to take a dive into the unknown and visit China, I would encourage you to do so. We are in a unique position to both learn from our Chinese counterparts, as well as teach them about our own histories and cultures- many of whom have not have had the opportunity to interact with anyone from our part of the world, just like my first Chinese friend.
