The Wrong Colour, eh?

A story about reverse racism

      I didn’t know what to expect as I walked through the front door of the massive Academia Internacional de Guatemala, all I knew was that the moment I stepped through the automatic glass doors, all eyes were on me. I looked around and gave one of my well known “friendly smiles”. Nobody smiled. They just stared and whispered amoung themselves. I started to feel strange and tense. I began to wonder if I looked weird or something. I glanced down at my outfit. Cute, I must say, with black knee-length leggings and a long, turquoise tank top accented with silver jewellery bought especially for this day from Tiffany and Co. and black boot-like heels from Giuseppe Zanoti. I don’t know what was worse; the silent staring or the conspiratorial whispering? I ran my hand through my silky, light blonde hair. I had spent the morning arranging into five different styles, then decided to wear it down to show off the curls. I was going into shock, but  I try not to let things get me off guard. I walked with all the confidence of a model to the door labeled “Directora Victalina Sanchez Almonte”. She gave me a schedule and the morning passed by fairly well. That is, until the lunch bell rang. Students swarmed the cafeteria like flies to meat at Sunday market. I got some food and looked around the crowded room for a table with an empty seat, preferably a table with other girls. I spotted a table with six other girls, chatting, laughing and drinking Pepsi. I walked over and asked to join them. Their response was memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. A short, but slim girl looked at me as if in disgust and said “Mi huevo, gringa. No eres una de nosotras, eres el color incorrecto.” I didn’t need to know perfect Spanish to know that she not only called me a “Gringa” (stupid girl, doesn’t she know an Aussie when she sees one?) she in no uncertain terms told me I was not “one of them” and that I was “the wrong color”. I stared at her coldly and for a second she looked almost scared, as if I was going to slap her. “What do you mean by “the wrong color”? Are you implying that my skin is too fair for your world of dark-skinned, dark-haired, brown-eyed clones? Well, I have some news for you, honey, I happen to be the right color and if you are too dumb to know that, you shouldn’t be here at all.” By then her jaw was open so wide it could’ve touched the floor. I smiled and said “Ciao, suckers” and clicked away in my heels. I looked back and she was still staring in astonishment. I sat down next to a boy with brown hair and he complimented me on my boldness and ability to stand up for myself. Diego and I have been good friends ever since, and from then on I knew how it felt to be discriminated against for the color of my skin.

Author's Note

Enjoy, mis amigos.

Reviews

[Bette]

i love it! well done!!!!!!!