I Went to Buy Bleaching Cream at Age 15
… how petty jokes & unsolicited advice forced me to desire lighter skin
I remember the time I went to buy a bleaching cream. I had gotten tired of the name ‘blackie’ that people constantly taunted me with; the regular jest of how if the light went out nobody would see me in the dark and also being identified as ‘that black girl.’ If someone said ‘that girl with big bum bum’ they wouldn’t be able to identify it as me being described. But if someone said ‘that black girl, or that black girl with big bum bum,’ everyone would get that it was me. I wasn’t dark, I was black. Once, my classmates made a joke of how if I crossed the road wearing black in the night, I wouldn’t be seen and might end up getting hit by an innocent car.
People, even relatives, told me my skin looked dirty. I needed to tone it, to bring out my ‘real colour.’ I had gotten tired of my crushes ending up liking girls lighter than me. The constant misconception that a fair girl was prettier than I was.
It is not the fault of anyone to be born with the complexion they were born with, but at some point in my life, for just a nanosecond, I had spite for light-skinned girls. It was my insecurities acting up. Just like how those same insecurities led me to the front of this ‘dermatologist’s shop.
A relative of mine had once told me, “toning isn’t bleaching, it only brings out your real colour.” At that point, I really believed there was something like ‘real colour.’ I had assurance that this black skin of mine was not my real colour. So, with the constant nagging from my relatives to ‘take care of my skin’, I decided I was going to do that.
I saved money till I had enough to buy products to ‘tone’ my skin. I had gotten the address from my relative. The address of her ‘dermatologist’. I boarded an okada with all the nerves in me because I knew then that toning was code for bleaching. The bike ride felt shorter than it normally should and when it stopped in front of the shop, it was one of those shops where they mixed creams or they knew creams that are good for whatever skin problem but are not dermatologists.
I came down slowly from the bike, sceptical about what I was about to do. I paid him and hoped he wouldn’t have change so I would have more time to gather my nerves, but he had my complete change. I was just about to enter when an elderly woman crossed from the other side of the road towards me. You see, the shop was basically on the edge of a street which separated it from another street.
She came to me excitedly, and I greeted her with confusion because I wasn’t in the habit of remembering faces, especially considering the number of people who knew my mother for her philanthropy, so I assumed she knew my mum and wanted to send her regards. But she told me how beautiful my black skin was and how I wouldn’t know the value till I grew old but didn’t age drastically. She talked about how she was envious of my complexion and ashamed of people who went to bleach theirs. Then she told me she was happy that I was maintaining my colour and had not gone to buy any cream to change it.
"You are a very beautiful girl, oh," she said as she left. No, she did not ask me to greet my mother neither did she even know my mother.
But I walked into the shop with a new perspective and asked,
“do you have any cream to make my black skin come out? I want it to shine.”
