Before now, I have always given ‘colour’ an undeservedly exclusive reverence. I would wake up in the dead of the night and assure myself that ‘colour’ is just an unfortunate entity that found itself not just on the skins of people but also the minds. And then i wouldn’t know when sunrise will zoom in.
It was a very colorful burden, but I never realized how heavy it was, not to talk of how much of my time was sinking into this self entitled onus, because I believed it from the marianas in my heart, that the black skin is inferior to non. I wasn’t sure if it was pan africanism like my friend Alex would say, or if it was the very height of a low self esteem. I mean I could be watching a movie, then suddenly I would start arguing with the television, because some white skinned people made discoveries that are incredibly phenomenal. Then I would assure my self with unfeigned severity that a man with a black skin would have done better. He only needed to be in the right place.
But then, just last last night, I realized, perhaps i was fighting for the wrong course. A pinch of thought also dropped on my mind that a mere touch had brainwashed me, but the thought flicked almost immediately.
I was sitting on a chair, watching Man. United play Bournemouth Fc when a white man walked up to me. “Hello, my name is ‘Bird'”. I raised my lips then rested them almost immediately. “Bird” he repeated. My lips opened again, but nothing came out. I wanted to protect a reputation that nobody knows. I shouldn’t mess up with the pronunciation. “B-U-D”, the third time he spelt it. “oh! I think say na ‘bird’ him dey call o!” I said in my mind. “Alright, my name is Michael” I said and turned to the television. “Which club do you support?” He asked me. “Liverpool” I told him. “oh fuck off!” He said to me and walked away.
A minute later he walked back to me and extended his hand, I shook it as soon as it jutted. “Am sorry about that, I was just joking”, he said. I flashed my teeth prominently, turned my head to either sides, and I said ‘no problem’, then I started laughing like he touched me with juju; a very flamboyant type of laughter. I couldn’t Phantom what exactly made me laugh. I mean I was supposed to drop a mildly narrowed face, or an austere look.
That was when I came to the conclusion that there is something at the back of that skin; something I am not met to altercate; something that is superior to colour itself. If not, it means Mr. Bud touched me with juju.
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