Dinner with a Racist
My parents emigrated to the UK when I was 14. On my first day in school, I was asked if in Africa we have ice cream and if I had ever had one. I told them I had. And I asked them if they had ever been on a plane. They hadn’t.
I went to a boarding school, mixed (in terms of races). I knew the groups to avoid and the groups I belonged to, but none of those had anything to do with race. Living in London, I felt blessed. Because everywhere I went, there was always somebody with a vastly different and more interesting background and heritage than mine. The chatter of different languages around me, was something I took for granted and something I miss everyday.
Which is why when I am confronted with racists, my blood boils. Today, I had a meeting with a veteran of the farming sector. He looked straight at my white colleague and said ‘obviously you started Zazu’. The rest of the meeting is a blur because I was so angry. Even more angry that I don’t remember anything after that point.
The problem, is not that I want to be introduced as the founder. People who know me, know that I adore lowkey behaviour, I adore the anonymity, nay I thrive in it. The problem is that he said ‘obviously..’as if. As if. As if. Yeah.
And then he continued to break bread like nothing had happened.