Not black enough. (Part 1)

I have often been told by friends and strangers alike that I am not “black” enough.

I am not black enough.


I am not black enough because I don’t know the words of the latest trap song in the charts.

I am not black enough because I’m not interested in hair growth journeys.

I am not black enough because I don’t have a big ass.

I am not black enough because I don’t speak my mother tongue.

I am not black enough because I can’t twerk or do the azonto.

I am not black enough because I walked over to that white guy instead of you.

You’ll say “my white friend is blacker than you” and I’ll laugh and joke around because it’s meant to be funny. Right?

I’ll laugh because I’m not black enough.

Even though my skin is rich in melanin and my native homeland is in Africa. Even though I tick the Black-African box on every form I fill. Even though I’m the only dark person in my class. Even though I look in the mirror and see a black woman, capable of being an individual. A young black woman who is sick and tired of not being black enough for black people when it’s clear she certainly isn’t any other race.

When you promote black brotherhood with your banners of ‘black power and love’; you lie. You tell everyone that we are brothers and sisters fighting the same fight but once those words leave your lips you turn to me and tell me

I am not black enough.

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