● LNL ●
By Lauren Nicole Lobo
(South Africa – Brazil)
Editor's note:
Lauren Nicole Lobo is a peaceful aggregation of life-affirming wonder housed within a carbon, bipedal human female. She would laugh at this description, preferring instead not to be labeled as to aid her own personal decolonization.
TEN FINGERS, TEN TOES. Born from my mother's womb, I arrived in this world on a Wednesday night many moons ago in Johannesburg, South Africa. As nature would have it, I am the third child: female, auburn hair, blue eyes, and pale white skin. As society would have it, I am privileged due to these physical characteristics.
Sans the first five years of my life, I grew up in post-apartheid South Africa, where friendships of different cultures and races were forged. One event that undoubtedly began to shape my questioning mind occurred at the tender age of 8. I had invited my best friend over to my house on a Friday afternoon to play after school. The hours passed, and we enjoyed our time swimming, watching TV, playing dress-up, and eating peanut butter sandwiches. She was supposed to be picked up around 6 pm. The hours stretched into the evening, and, sometime after dinner, I noticed that she was crying. After telling my mom, she called my friend's mother, who mentioned she was running late at work and would it be okay to pick her up on Saturday? I was thrilled because my idea of a playdate had just turned into a sleepover. Saturday came and went, and my friend stayed a second night. Sunday came, and evening arrived. The doorbell rang, and after some stern conversations with my friend's mother, my friend went home.
The story that was relayed to me afterward was that her mother and aunt had decided to leave her at our house because a white suburban household was safe for a black girl, away from the townships. I didn't know much about the townships then, except that they were far away. As time passed and our friendship grew, I began to learn more and question my place in this society: What does it mean to be a white girl in South Africa? The years ticked on, and my question would ultimately be answered from multiple South African viewpoints.
As a young university graduate (afforded to me by hard work and resources available via inherent privilege), I moved to Asia to teach English. Arriving there was like visiting another planet: indecipherable language, different foods, and incomprehensible customs. I felt out of my depth, but what I possessed led me to experience a weird version of celebrity, all because I spoke English and was white. I got a job hours after the plane landed, along with a sense of security and freedom that accompanies a jaw-dropping paycheck. All progressed in a hunky-dory fashion until my values were questioned at work. Apparently, they didn't mean much because, as I was told, "This is not your culture". As I subsequently heard versions of this identity-melting refrain, I couldn't help but ask: What does it mean to be a white woman in Asia?
After four wonderful and sometimes trying Asian years, I moved to Vancouver Island, Canada. Stories had been relayed to me about the Canadian residential schools and how their indigenous people had been treated: 'Canada's worst best-kept secret' was how the eerie whispers generally went. And, as the world has come to know, this 'worst best-kept secret' is now public knowledge. However, I did not only witness the trauma of indigenous people on the city streets; white people were part of the general social malaise. Think drug addicts, alcoholics, homeless people, all of them sharing the same skin color as me. I confess to being utterly thrown by this; I had never experienced this version of reality before. My boyfriend at the time pointed out that my 'normal' fell along segregation-oriented fault lines: What happens in South Africa occurs here, albeit via different demographic meddling. With a twist, my old question reared its head: What did it mean to be white in this particular 'melting pot' culture?
A few years on, I met my Brazilian husband. Landing in the metropolis that is São Paulo without a lick of Portuguese, I ironically felt right at home. The open heart that I assimilated via my travels and experiences sang openly amidst the beautifully colorful Brazilian community: Indigenous, Italian, Japanese, Africans, Germans, and others, all united in speaking one literal and figurative language. Six years have passed since, and yet I'm only now getting into the core rhythms of how this ancient land's heart beats. Currently living in the southern city of Pelotas, I have in recent times latched onto one irregular yet pertinent rhythm that has dictated Brazil's modern history: the history of colonization in Brazil, and how and why this matters in coming to know what my new home really is.
The Portuguese colonized Pelotas in Rio Grande do Sul, and its subsequent involvement in the slave trade was significant. 'Charqueadas' in Pelotas were commercial farms where the production of 'charqui' (or as we know it, biltong) was made and exchanged for sugar during the 18th and 19th centuries. Slaves brought over from Africa were made to work sixteen hours a day to produce this, often while shackled and living under inhumane conditions. While this type of situation isn't new to anyone with an inkling of what history is and has entailed, it proved to me that the effects of colonization (perhaps characterized better by the active noun Coloniality) is a universal stain that has given birth to the myriad illusions (including my privilege) that sustain the world in its current form. As I continue to learn my present hometown's history, I am now left to reflect (with yet another twist): What does it mean to be a white African woman in Brazil in a city built on African slavery?
My childhood and travels have been integral in helping me understand my place in the world. However, what I have learned through everything (minus all labels, aka A Personal Decolonization), is that I am a humble human being doing my everyday best to be kind, compassionate, thoughtful, and aware of people and their stories. I believe this is the only way to truly see the light reflecting off the diamond that is our beautiful, fragile world.
Questions for Reflection:
Lauren's life has been molded by travel, which appears to have catalyzed within her a great capacity to reflect and hence empathize. With this in mind, what type of trip or adventure – whether it be one of leisure, learning, or perhaps pilgrimage-like – would you care to take, and what capacity for reflective hindsight do you believe your selected destination could provide?