I Am a White Girl From Africa

Yes. You read that right.

For anyone who has ever traveled or lived in the more rural areas of Asia, you'll know that the local population's favourite question for foreigners is "Country?" "Country?" (followed by "Husband?" "Husband?" if you're a female, but that's a post for another day). When I ignore the second question but respond "South Africa" to the first, they stare at me momentarily baffled and bemused and then inevitably chuckle as they point at my pasty forearm excitedly proclaiming "Not possible. white colour, white colour!"

I give up and give in to my long held deduction (from living four years in Sri Lanka) that if you have white skin, you are, of course German.

But no people, I (although yes some of my forefathers and mothers were from the Fatherland) am indeed African.

Cue Simba being held up on Pride Rock.

Image: www.animationsource.org Simba looks a bit sad (or concerned...) but this was the best copyright free image I could find.

Like Michael Jackson of African America, I (and others prone to sunburn like me) are the anomalies of Southern Africa. But, prone to what the world might have you believe, difference is in fact not a bad thing. In fact nothing, in my opinion is a bad thing (again, a post for another day). A friend of mine recently traversed Sri Lanka taking great joy in telling little girls that she was the (albeit white) queen of Africa. And they believed her very happily.

The moral of the story is that you can be whoever you want to be. No matter what your country, culture or race (which are all societal constructs anyway) if you wear your own crown and you wear it unapologetically and authentically, you can be anyone's queen.

Image: The pic that inspired this post, by my co-creating boyfriend @coco2coco

Much love,
Camilla

Ps: As promised, this post has been delivered to you in its pure, unedited form.