English | Afro-Guyanese
My Mum was born in the UK (London) but her parents were Afro-Guyanese. My Dad is from Worcestershire in England. They met through the singles ads in Time Out.
I used to hide my hair texture. My Mum relaxed my hair from when I was five because it was ‘difficult’, and I didn’t go natural until about 2016. I was so young when she started that it wasn’t my decision to make, but I certainly absorbed ideas about my hair; it was too difficult, too ugly, even that it was too tightly coiled for how light skinned I was.
But on the flip side, I was often trying to reveal my identity. Though it didn’t come up so often when I went to school in inner city London up to the age of 12 and my schools were so mixed that non-Whiteness was rarely commented on, I moved to a school in the suburbs of London in year 9 and subsequently went to predominantly White higher institutions and workplaces. Since then, it’s often felt like I’ve had to demonstrate my identity. For example, at the school I attended from year 9 onwards, some people would make racist comments (about others) not realising I had a Black mother and I had to reveal that they weren’t just in the company of White people. It felt like having a window into how some people felt, like being a fly on the wall.
It got to the point, around 2016, when I started reading more about natural hair online, that it felt like I wanted to embrace the only real marker of my mixed heritage. Around that time, my Mum was very ill with cancer and died the following year. With my maternal Grandparents x having also passed, I think the decision to stop relaxing my hair was partly related to a desire to hold onto a part of my heritage.
When I was younger I got called ‘half caste’ sometimes. I remember a (White) boy at primary school saying it to me once, but then another boy (a person of colour) told him that was wrong to say. I count myself lucky for having grown up in London where I didn't feel isolated in my own mixedness. I think what bugged me more was people denying that I was mixed, or suggesting that I couldn't possibly be related to my second cousins, who are all darker than my Mum. It made me feel like I had to prove something, whip out a photo of my Mum, or something.
I think the main challenge I faced around my identity was feeling like I was in a very in-between place, or people assuming that I couldn't possibly have a Black Mother because of how light my skin is. It made me ruminate a lot over what I should be considered as. Reading more about the construct of race made me realise it made little sense to describe myself as ‘part Black’, as race, unlike ethnicity, is more about how others perceive you than how you choose to self-describe, and you're either Black or you're not.
I think I've managed to let go of this rumination. I remember I used to ask my Mum a lot, ‘what am I?’, and she would say, ‘You're just mixed’. And I think that's as simple as it is. I think the weird thing is being racially ambiguous, so While some people will view me as having certain Afro-Caribbean features, others think I look like some other ethnicity. It's a bit strange.
There are also funny examples of the challenges. For example, in Sixth Form I was nominated by my school for Diane Abbott's Young Black Achievers Award. This was because of how my ethnicity/race was recorded by the school. My Mum was very excited, of course, and went to the award's ceremony even though I didn't win. I felt embarrassed about the prospect of winning because I thought, ‘I'm a fraud. I'm not even Black’. My Dad was like, ‘You'll have to wear your hair curly if you win’. It all felt a bit ridiculous. It does make me really think about the absurdity of race categories and what it all means. And like, in this case, what does it mean to excel academically as a mixed-race person when I don't think I experienced racial discrimination by school teachers?
I think I was proud growing up. Again, even when I went to a school that was more White than I was used to, I was never the only person of colour. And I think that helped with wanting to be proud of my heritage and to tell people about it. My Grandparents were also very proud of their heritage and I have lots of photos of them from when they were in Georgetown. My Granddad was a writer; he wrote novels and poems, and even had some published. So he was very eloquent when he spoke, very passionate about his hometown and about dismantling colonialism. This also made me feel proud, I think. I always wish I could have known him as an adult because I know he would have been so interesting to talk to. Luckily most of my extended family are still in the UK, including most of my second cousins, with whom I am close. I have one second cousin who moved from the UK, and my Dad now lives in France, but this is unrelated to my heritage.
Overall, I feel positive about my identity. I like the fact that I grew up with two different cultures. I have no doubt it shaped the way I am.
When I was 16, I was arrested wrongfully and unfairly, and was ultimately given a youth reprimand. This, I was told, would stay on my record until I was 100, according to the law at the time. I believe the law has now changed. It has affected me deeply ever since. It led to immense guilt and shame. But it also led to my interest in the criminal justice system, and the racism and classism it upholds and reproduces.
I remember my Mum saying that she shouldn't have gone with me for questioning, that my Dad should have gone because he is White. She thought the police might have acted more harshly because they knew I was mixed. I remember thinking that was silly at the time. With my poker straight, relaxed hair and pale skin, I didn't think I would be racially profiled. But, years later, I submitted a Subject Access Request to the Police National Computer system to look at my record. They had described my physical features, eye colour, height, etc. They had written that my race was Black. I found it perplexing. They didn't even describe me as mixed-race. It made me wonder if my Mum was right after all. The arresting officers told me at the time that, after questioning, they believed me, but that their superior wanted to make an example out of me. It's hard not to think, now, that race wasn't involved.
The last time I cried was yesterday. I'm a crier, okay! I was crying because I'm still dealing with the aftermath of my Mum's passing. I have all these boxes of photographs that she took, even though I have gotten rid of many. She took an unusually large number of photos for the time. I probably had the equivalent of what people now, taking pictures on their iPhones, have, of my own childhood.
I was talking to my partner about how to organise the photos, and he was saying that if I keep them all I will never be able to even enjoy them. They'll have to be kept in boxes. I know he's right, I want to have manageable photo albums to show my extended family. But it's hard to consider letting go of some.
It might be cheesy to say but my Mum really is my role model. Only in adulthood have I really come to appreciate what a unique person she was. She possessed a rare intelligence that was greater than knowing facts (though she knew many and would beat anyone in a pub quiz), speaking many languages (four), and being a wonderful secondary school teacher. She also had a level of perception and intuition that I have yet to see in anyone else; an emotional intelligence that is so rarely coupled, as it was, with street and book smarts. Not to mention her wicked sense of humour and fantastic laugh.
She suffered on and off with cancer from the age of 45 to 64, when she passed away. Throughout this time she was brave and selfless (though I wish she didn't have to be). Somehow, she still went into work, despite the chemo, she was still a wonderful Mother to me, a dutiful daughter to her elderly parents, a dear friend to many. She really encompasses the type of person we need more of in the world. Something that feels hard is knowing that my future children will never meet their Grandma. My partner is White, so I know that they will likely look completely White, and I do wonder how they will feel, how connected they might feel to their heritage if they don't have my Mum in their lives.
At the places I work I'm usually one of two or three people of colour and it rarely gets discussed. Sometimes I wonder if people know about my heritage. I think people can be a bit afraid of asking for fear of being impolite or rude, but I actually like talking about it.
I did actually take part in an outreach internship five years ago, where I assume being non-White was a factor in my being accepted. This was in a predominantly White workplace, and also a place that privileged the upper/upper-middle classes. But then there were twelve of us interns. So having them all helped me feel less alone.
Sadly, I feel very anglicised. I don't feel particularly close to my Guyanese culture. At this point I would love to learn more about Guyanese cooking, for example, but it almost feels like cosplaying, as my Mum and Grandparents didn't make traditional Guyanese food. My cousins and I would love to go to Guyana one day, and we still have a few living relatives, but most of them have moved to other parts of the world now.