Beyond Babylon by Igiaba Scego

Author:Igiaba Scego
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Lines Press
Published: 2019-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

THE NEGROPOLITAN

I want the black man. Yes, I want him, I want him, I want him, until death do us part and beyond.

I want to fall in love with a man whose skin is the same color as mine. I want his muscles, his joy, his intelligence. He might love me briefly, but at least he would love me. He wouldn’t make me feel inadequate. No, he wouldn’t make me feel like an idiot. My black man, the only one, the essential. Me, his black woman, the only one, the essential. United forever in melanin.

Enough with the gaalo. I don’t want to hear any more about white-skinned dolls. White no pasará, nunca pasará, it will never, ever do. Enough with dairy products and their derivatives. The ivory creature is a thing of the past. You stripped my land, you will never strip me. I want to give myself to my skin brother. The man who knows my natural pH is no one to spurn. I am the sister of Cam, in Cam, for Cam. I am full of black pride and that’s that.

A beautiful speech infused with wisdom about black pride and black promises. Calibrated words. Ivory creature. My goodness, it sounds so dignified! I repeat it a couple of times. I taste the sound. I’m euphoric, it’s a marvelous phrase. Dante must’ve used it, certainly. I’m delighted by my genius.

I repeat the speech countless times, from Tunis Bahria Station all the way to Carthage Amilcar. I have to internalize and start to believe it. I cannot fall in love with a white man again. I don’t want to. Whites do nothing for me. They mock me or, heaven knows, think of me as some exotic animal. That, or they’re gay like the last one. I have to stay away from white men. I don’t like suffering. I have to be reflected in the man I love. White blinds me. I can’t see myself in it.

Whites are set on wronging black people anyways. Granted, Lucy is white, but she doesn’t destroy, she’s a woman, an exception. White people usually demolish. You have to keep a hundred eyes on the lookout. Defend yourself. I have to get it through my skull: they’ve got the colonial vice. Then they have the gall to say: “We did it to civilize you.”

I repeat my speech. I have to imprint it on my memory. One, two, three, repeat. I have some time. I’m on the train connecting Tunis proper with its seaside surroundings. I’m with friends. The train is exactly the same as the one to Ostia Lido, down to the very passengers. The kids are more boisterous. They open the doors of the moving train to look tough, rebel against the man. Miranda knows French. She exchanges a few words with them. They snicker and tease her some. They tell her they’ll visit her and give her “the caresses and kisses your husband doesn’t give you anymore.” They make maps of their family trees. Tunisians have relatives all over the world: in Italy, France, Spain.

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