The Story of a Little Black Girl

The events which have been occurring recently with the Black Lives Matters movement has truly opened my eyes to the world around me. As a black woman I will always fall victim to prejudice, that's the horrible truth, and that is why thousands of people of every colour are protesting for our rights to be in unity and be treated with the same decency as any other human being.

I am so proud of the black community; they are not afraid to speak their minds and all of this is teaching such amazing values to the younger generation.

Yet I can't help but still feel worry for some little black boy or little black girl out there who are still trying to understand who they are.

Growing up I was always surrounded by white faces. I've grown with white people in my family, I've been educated by white teachers, the majority of the children in my primary school were white, so effectively I felt a little... different.

So many questions would flood my mind:

Why is my hair different?

Why do people always want to touch my hair when I wear it out?

Am I "acting white"?

Is that wrong?

Does that make me a bad person?

These thoughts would be constant and grew progressively worse the older I got.

Below the age of eleven was when I would care more about my hair and the colour of my skin. I, for no particular reason, had white friends as a child because I just bonded with them for their personality and nothing more. But as a child you get curious, and I would always look at my friends' long silky hair and wonder why my hair wasn't like that too. Why do I have to go to a 'black hairdresser' and wear hair extensions? Why can't I wear my natural hair without it frizzing up? Long hair is pretty so I'm not pretty.

Eventually I grew out of that phase upon realising that my hair shouldn't be an issue. I enjoyed wearing extensions, so why should I complain? I'm not a white girl, why should I even try to compare myself? I am black.

From the age of twelve was the more difficult period of my life. Teenagers are quick to judge, and I was JUDGED. My friendship group were all white because, as I previously stated, I bond with personality and having white people in my family has taught me to not define another by the colour of their skin, yet because of my friendship group I was labelled an 'oreo'. Being my innocent self I didn't know what the term meant but when looking it up it was defined as being black on the outside and white on the inside.

That hit me. Hard.

I had never really thought too much about race until that day. So does that mean that I'm not black? I would look at my skin and see black, see the skin that I never faced any issues with. But something about being called an 'oreo' made me feel unworthy. I felt as though being me was wrong.

Again, I grew older, the time where teenagers would be gaining crushes and getting into relationships. Everyone apart from me. I've probably had about two crushes in my teen life, both of them white, but I'd question my motive. I shouldn't like white boys, I'm not an 'oreo', I should stick to my own race, that's what I'm supposed to do. And then that darkness in my mind would grow deeper... No one wants to date me because I'm black...

At the age of eighteen years old I became an adult and in that time I had come to understand that prejudice and judgement is everywhere, I will never be equal but I can try to be. I will make the friends I want, I can fall in love with any guy I choose, I can hold my head up high as I walk down a street and be me.

But then one day I received a "compliment" - "Ella's pretty attractive for a black girl"

FOR A BLACK GIRL.

Even as an adult I am looked at differently. You can find me attractive, that's fine, but comparing me to your negative perceptions of black women is disgusting. Are black women not beautiful? Are we that different that every black woman has to be categorised as unattractive?

In the twenty years of my life I have been through my ups and downs, challenging my race and purely learning. But what terrifies me is that there is another black little child comparing themselves to other races, believing that they are not beautiful, questioning why they had to be born black, a race which society recognises as different and unappreciated.

A world in which no child of colour will question who they are is a world I strive to make a reality.

Black Is Beautiful. You don't need long silky hair to be beautiful. You don't need light skin to be beautiful. What makes a person beautiful, black or white, is what they hold on the inside.

These black lives matter protesters are truly inspirational for the black younger generation. They are teaching them that it is okay to look different since we are all the same. They are teaching them to love themselves because BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL. And we will fight until that is heard.

~Ella