Travelling while African

It’s long been a dream of mine to be published in print and well, it finally happened. I have two articles in the July/August edition of Proflight Zambia’s in flight magazine, Nkwazi. The glossy mag is one of the best publications the country produces and it’s great to be in it. That my first print articles are in a top tier magazine only makes me more chuffed. Better still, I’ll now be a regular contributor so there’ll be more articles to come.

So here it is, the first article I submitted to Nkwazi, Travelling While African, where I reflect on my experience of living abroad with a focus on my time in Australia and Italy.

Travelling While African

It was a warm afternoon in the Eternal City, Rome, as I walked along, heading out to see some of the popular tourist sites. A man selling cheap Roman souvenirs, the kind made in China, stared at me and screamed. I was scared for a second and wondered what horrible crime I had committed. As I looked around, trying to figure out it if it really was me the man in the too-tight grey jeans was staring at he pointed at me shouted “Naomi Campbell!” Relieved, I burst out laughing and kept walking but not before a couple of people pulled out their camera phones to take a shot of me as I walked down my cobblestone catwalk. Somewhere out there are three Italian men who mistakenly think they’ve laid eyes on one of the world’s greatest (and most ill-tempered) supermodels. This little incident happened on the streets of Rome during my good old days as a university student. Travelling and living abroad as minority you may experience incidents of subtle or overt racism but there are other experiences that are more innocent and downright funny.

In other cases of mistaken identity I’ve been mistaken for an “African princess.” One Italian man approached me and presented an “Eat, Pray, Love” type arrangement in which we would meet over coffee and I would teach him English while he taught me Italian. This man thought I must be a princess exploring Italy on a trip funded by my royal fortune. I assured him I wasn’t a princess but I’m not sure he was convinced. Similarly, while on a boat ride off the coast of Queensland, Australia an elderly Brisbanite man who was well-travelled and by no means ignorant asked me if I had royal blood. He however did not let the matter go until I mentioned being distantly related to a member of a royal establishment back home. “You can tell these things,” he insisted, “even if the relationship is distant.” Though surely, if I were a poised white girl from England he would not assume I was related to princes William and Harry. Still I laughed and took some pleasure in the fact that anyone actually viewed me as regal.

In one incident that happened during my time in Brisbane I found myself both confused and flattered. Over lunch a friend told me one of the girls she lived with was talking about me. I braced myself for the worst only to be told, “My roommate told me she thinks my Indian friend is very pretty.” I didn’t know what to make of it. On the one hand she thinks I’m pretty, the flattering part. On the other hand, she inexplicably thinks I look Indian. Surprisingly, when I told one of my black Zambian friends living in Brisbane hat someone had mistaken me for an Indian female she said the exact same thing had happened with her.

One of the most baffling encounters for me happened on my third day in Brisbane. I’d just moved into my on-campus accommodation and was chatting with two girls I shared a floor with. When I said I was from Zambia the bewildering response I got from one of the girls was, “What part of Australia is Zambia in?” Too stunned to answer, my mouth opened but no words came out. The only thing I can conclude is she thought I’m an aboriginal Australian even though I scarcely look like one. Eventually I found my words and told her Zambia is a country in Africa. She was embarrassed but glad to have learned something new

The geographical confusion did not end there, a fellow university student in Brisbane revealed that he did not know South Africa is a country. When I mentioned a trip I had taken there several years ago this Canadian master’s student said, “Oh, so South Africa’s a country. When I watched Invictus I thought there was a south African team and a north African team.” Sensing how dumbfounded and amused I was the guy tried to turn the tables on me and asked me if I could name any Canadian provinces. He was lost for words when I mentioned 6 out 8 provinces in quick succession.

Back in Zambia I’m often asked if I experienced racism while abroad and the simple answer is no. Not the direct kind anyway though I’d say I experienced ‘racism of lowered expectations.’ That’s the kind that might make people say, “Oh wow, your English is so good. Did you learn to speak it here or back in Africa?” However, I found that most people who enquired about my background and life back in Zambia did so out of genuine curiosity and had no intention of offending me. For many people in Rome and Brisbane especially, I was the first black person and/or African they had the chance to interact with. People had a sincere desire to learn about the place I’d come from and to hear firsthand accounts rather than just news reports. And that’s the beauty of travel, for both the traveller and the local that encounters the traveller, it offers the opportunity to learn something new and enrich our lives. It’s a mixed bag at times. Some days you’ll be mistaken for a supermodel or princess and others you’ll roll your eyes so many times because once again someone made a comment about ‘Uncle Bob’ aka Robert Mugabe after you said you’re from Zambia. The sights, sounds and tastes we experience when we travel enrich our lives but the most enriching experience is part when we interact with the people that create them.