Beyond the Skin
When visiting me in London, my friends from the USA and other parts of the UK often ask, “How can you live in Chelsea, man? There are no Black people.”
“So, what is your point exactly?” is usually my response.
Chelsea is peaceful, with clean streets and no constant confrontations or the blare of police sirens. Yes, everything is pricier here, but you get what you pay for — and, in my opinion, you get much more than in the typical neighbourhoods with larger Black populations. But I know where to go if I want some goat meat, yam, plantains or green bananas for dinner.
Admittedly, after my twenty-seven years of living here, some white people still clutch their handbags or Rolex watches in fear when they see me approaching. But I see that as their issue, not mine. In Chelsea, I can focus on my dreams without fearing a bullet or a blade from someone who looks a lot like me.
This might make me sound like a self-loathing Uncle Tom. However, I’d argue that such self-loathing is more common in neighbourhoods where knife crime or gun violence are commonplace. When I lived in Washington, DC, in the United States, I would ask the people I met there, “Why don’t you move?”
