Let’s Talk About Racism ‘I am tired of being a black man in India’
I arrived in India three years ago. When the plane that took me to Nigeria finally arrived in Delhi, I was excited. I was ready to embrace a new culture and people. This, after all, was the land of Mahatma Gandhi.
After 21 years of age, I was almost childish about the desire to explore India – its history; Its wide and varied territory; Its various people; it’s the food; Their tongues; Your music and movies. I registered for a course at Delhi and Paramedic Management Institute, and entered the classroom with a broad smile on his face.
I was not prepared for the racist assault. It hit me with relentless consistency, every day, for three years I’ve been here. Racist insults, frightened eyes, deep eyes and long part of my daily life. I am not alone. All Africans in India have the same experience.
The first word I learned was Hindi Kallu. “I still hear wherever I go In the class On the street To the vegetable vendor In the neighborhood where I live in South Delhi – Constantly remember that I am black and I am judged by the color of my skin.
Fear is a constant companion. I am deeply aware of being “different”. I do not know when they tell me that I am a “cannibal”, or when the police will knock on my door and pretend to be a “drug dealer.” There is an extreme pornographic image of the Africans that the Indians carry on their head in which I am a kind of “pimp”. I can not even think of approaching me from a pretty woman in a restaurant to say hello because I’ve been typecasting.