“Matice” “La blanche” “Yovo” all local
names I go by in my village, or rather what the locals who don’t know me like
to call me. You see, I don’t actually respond to these. The first one means
“mixed” in French, the second means “the white” in French, and the third means “whitey”
in local language. The local kids even have a song “Yovo Yovo, Bonjour/Bonsoir.
Ca Va bien? Merci!” (Whitey, whitey, Good morning/ Good evening. It’s going
well? Thank you!) Cute right? Some volunteers here think so too. Frankly, I
find it all rather annoying and for the most part I ignore anyone, whether they
are little kids, old men, teenage girls, or the king himself who calls me by
them. Before I came to Benin, I had this
idea in my head, expectations so to speak. I think most African-Americans (I
find this classification funny now) do as well. I had this expectation that I’d
be returning to home, that I’d feel I don’t know . . . something. No, I didn’t
think I’d run into my great great grands here or find my “roots”. But maybe I
was expecting just a bit more recognition, welcoming is perhaps the word I’m
looking for. But there hasn’t been much of that. Short of a few long
conversations not many people recognize what or who I am. They don’t really get
that someone who looks like me cannot be white, not be black, and not be just
mixed.
Now understand that the children don’t say
it to be mean, it’s what their parents teach them to say. I’ve seen mothers (my
own neighbor) teaching their 1 year old how to say Yovo while pointing at me. I
don’t get how they can’t find that somewhat rude. Well maybe I do. My French
teacher explained it to my language group when we first arrived that back
before the independence of Benin, 63 years ago the French would give the kids
candy if they sang at them. So it stuck. Today being called Yovo is a
compliment to the locals here. When women have babies with light skin they call
them Yovo, albinos are called Yovo, and adults with light skin take pride in
being called Yovo. When I have the time and energy I stop and tell them how
impolite I find it but I can’t change a tradition. I can however not give it
any positive reinforcement of my own. “La blanche” is a different story. I
usually get that from creepy men who in their warped mind think I’m going to be
flattered by it. Yuck. So why do I really mind? First off, I’m not white and
I’m not mixed, at least not in the way that they understand it to be, which is
that I have a white parent and an African parent. Neither of my parents is
white and when someone asks where in Africa my parents come from I can’t give
an answer. Second, I’m still used to it
being politically incorrect, even if they don’t see it that way. After I
express my dislike for it they should at least respect that right? Lastly, in
my family we’ve been taught that being called out of your name is impolite. Getting
them to understand the concept of African-American has been really difficult. I
think maybe I’m beginning to see why.
I told you that I met a Czech couple around
New Year’s. When I first saw them in the market we did the “I spot another yovo
glance” where you see a foreigner, they look at you, you look at them and you
both try to listen to each other’s French to find out where the other is from.
I thought she was French at first, and she was talking to her husband and they
both obviously assumed I was mixed. I heard her call me “Matice”. I corrected her and said I was American. She
responded “no but your color” I told her I was African-American, she responded
so you’re “mixed”? That’s when I started to get it. That night I had dinner
with the same couple and she told me how in Czech her husband is pointed out
for his skin color and her children are seen as outsiders. I’ve heard similar
things from a friend I know that’s been to India and another I know that’s been
to Spain. In these regions prejudice is
outright. You are defined in great part by your color, the lighter the better. I
won’t go on to say that in America we are so much better off and I definitely won’t
go on to say that prejudice doesn’t exist. But at least we know that to be
American means more than just to be a color or speak a language. My friend from
Czech told me that in Czech there really aren’t any dark skinned people. There
just hasn’t been any opportunity for Africans to really immigrate there. I
never thought it possible before coming here that places existed where you
could live a lifetime and never meet a person whose color is different than
yours. I told her she’s doing her part to better her country by marrying a
Beninese man.
I remember a woman I met a little after that
who had light skin and wavy hair. Her mother was from Germany and her father
from Benin. She said she gets the “matice” and “yovo” as well but she
classifies herself as Beninese. Not German-Beninese. I started thinking, are
the titles African-American, hell even Caucasian, really doing us justice? Do
dark skinned French people have to classify themselves as African-French; in
Spain, African-Spanish; or in Britain, African-British? When I think about it,
and boy I’ve had nothing but time to do just that, we literally and
figuratively are so much more than that. Sure, if you have to classify by
color, I can sort of understand black and white. But then again we have so much
more than that flowing through our veins and continuously being added that
those titles are not enough to accurately describe who we are. At least not
today, not anymore they aren’t. Maybe at one point they were. Maybe at one
point white and black did the job of accurately describing a person. But today
we’re all really mixed and with more than just African and Caucasian. What
about our Native-American roots? Which I can’t really count unless I’m what is
it, 1/8th and documented? How do I know I don’t have some Irish or Greek
or Hispanic in me? What measurement of what am I? I don’t know and unless I’m
willing to fork out a few thousand dollars I never will, and even then who
really knows. I find it easy now, if I feel up to putting in the effort, to
just say that I’m American. And if I’m asked about my color I say that “Il y a beaucoup
des types des gens aux Etats-Unis. Tous les monde est ensemble.” That usually
assuages their curiosity or leaves them confused enough to leave me the hell
alone.
