“Her picture will be so dark, you won’t even be able to see her.”

I tried to say something,

But my tongue was tied.

I tried to ignore the slight,

Pretend I didn’t hear it,

Just focus on the camera.

But I wasn’t able to, unfortunately.

The result was as horrible as could be.

Out of nowhere, a taxi swerved and stopped right in front of me like it was a police car and I was some criminal on the run.
An elderly woman stepped out of the taxi.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing dressed like that?”
I was wearing loose-fitting blue jeans and a black t-shirt. My tightly-coiled hair hung about my face untied.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.

I am dark skinned,
And I don't know when I started to hate how I look,
Nor when I convinced myself that I was not pretty.
I’m sure my parents think I am ugly.
Even my brother would say things like,
“I rejected a potential wife, because she looked like you.”

I’m sorry it took me a long time to come to terms with you and accept you as you are.
But don’t be upset.
We still have the rest of our lives to love each other.
I’m sorry about the things you had to listen to.
The racism you faced.
body image, beauty standards, bullying, racism

I have dark skin,
And I adore it.
I’m an Egyptian girl of Nubian descent,
But I don’t live in Nubia.
I never get a break from people’s comments:
On the streets, at school, or any place I go.
body image, bullying, racism, beauty standards

My appearance is what’s stopping me from getting on stage.
I’ve even considered cosmetic surgery.
I’m learning script writing so that I could play my own self on stage.
I’ll write a play that talks about people like me.
I’ll find someone like me to play the leading role.

My parents are Nubian.
I was born olive-skinned,
Like most Egyptians.
My brother, however,
Who’s a year and a half older than me,
Was darker-skinned,
Like most Nubians.
That’s not the only problem:
My brother has a disability:
A chronic ulcer on the sole of his foot.

It was around 2:00 pm in the afternoon in Al-Haganah.
There, people get their water supply from a public water tap.
There were a lot of people waiting in line, among them was a Sudanese woman.
She was in her forties, wearing a traditional Sudanese dress.
She obviously had to wait in line with everyone else.
But she also had to wait until everyone else finished.
Just because she was Sudanese.

Every single day,
People passing me by in the street,
Shout insults at me:
“Blackie!”
“Shikabala!”
“Why’s it dark all of the sudden?”
“Disgusting!”

“You’re dark-skinned,
But you’re funny.”
“People who are dark-skinned,
Have the best sense of humor.”
That’s what I’m always told at any gathering.
This is a kind of social stereotyping.