Very Bouncy

On a trip sailing from the San Blas islands in Panamá to Cartagena, Colombia, a very seasick girl from Hong Kong asked to touch my hair. Of the fourteen travelers on the sailboat, I was the only black passenger. As I sat somewhat stunned, but not entirely surprised, the two Germans on board saw the look of horror in my eyes, but decided to stay out of the interaction. I like to think that perhaps due to severe dehydration, the girl form Hong Kong was beginning to lose her mind, but the situation got worse when her Belgian boyfriend, who also was seasick and delirious, looked on in amazement at my curly tresses. There I was on a boat in the middle of the ocean trapped in a black female traveler’s worst-case scenario. In a strange turn of events and perhaps out of pity for the seasick girl, I took a piece of my hair (literally one tendril of curls) and allowed her to hold it for about three seconds. Barely able to speak and on the verge of vomiting (again), she said, “very bouncy” and smiled before making her way to the stern to provide the ocean with extra protein.

While traveling, I find that the intersectionality of my blackness and my US citizenship often brings about confusion and awkward moments. The issues that many white travelers face are simply not the same as what non-white travelers encounter and experience. Traveling alone comes with its own set of concerns, but traveling alone while black and female? Well, that requires a much longer conversation.

I have countless stories such as the aforementioned of seemingly innocent interactions with fellow tourists who rarely have up close and personal relationships with black people. If this incident occurred in the US, I’m certain I would have said, “No, can I touch yours?”, but given the circumstances and the state that the girl was in, I caved and chocked it up to a cultural “exchange” of some kind. Additionally, at some point, to enjoy yourself while traveling as a black and female person, you have to learn to know when to let down your guard in order to find true liberation.

I have also found that most of the time while traveling, I am a super confusing person to try to identify with regard to my origins. I have had people ask me if I am from Trinidad, the Dominican Republic, Colombia, Cape Verde, Brazil, Cuba, Panamá or the usual just straight up, are you some kind of a mix? I generally respond by saying that I am from the US and as soon as I begin speaking, my US accent confirms for others my origins which is usually enough to satisfy people.

For many around the globe, seeing black tourists is a rare sight. Even when I travel, finding other black tourists from the US is like searching for a needle in a haystack. In fact, it is so rare sometimes that I actively search out other black tourists. Sometimes I feel like my Uncle Alvin who emails me after his trips to let me know how many other black people he counted on his latest journey. I have always wondered why older, black generations are so concerned with how many black people they encounter on their trips or even at the grocery store, but now here I am doing the same thing. The truth is that it is extremely important, and it provides a barometer of perhaps how open a community or culture is to black people. How many of you have relatives who end every story with, “well, back then there were only two of us you know?” (insert: at college, in class, at work etc.).

How do I explain this phenomenon of counting fellow black travelers? Imagine that you are Dory the blue tang searching for your family and you keep swimming and swimming and when you see a fellow blue tang you get wildly excited even if they aren’t your true family. That’s me when I see a black traveler. I get excited if I see other black people at my hotel, eating at a restaurant or passing by on the street. I am always pleased to receive or give the infamous “nod” which provides a level of understanding and support. When I see a black American, I want to leap across the room and hug them. I of course refrain as that would be super weird, but it’s true. I remember in graduate school attending a Gordon conference in Newport, Rhode Island on Evolutionary Genetics and just before the start of a session, the only other black person in the room, a friendly 60+ year old biologist came darting over to me, fumbling over seats in his effort to grab my attention. He was thrilled to see another black person at the conference and blurted out, “Well, finally there is another one of us coming up the line!”. He was so adorable and reminded me of my family that all I could do was smile and laugh. There we were, several generations apart, but sharing a moment together simply because we were the only “ones” in the room of 150 people (side-eye entire field of evolutionary genetics). So why do I get so excited when I see other black travelers?

If I had to explain it, I would say that it is about familiarity and shared experience. The same way that Panamanians I’ve met in New York get excited to know that I live in Panama even though I’m not Panamanian. We immediately fall into speaking Panamanian Spanish (Que xopa, frens?! Todo cool.) and talk about food, specifically ‘sancocho’. It’s not just that I want to compare travel notes or stories with other black travelers, it’s that I want to know what their lived experience has been while black. Black people are often treated so badly in the US that when they travel and realize that the world is much bigger and grander than what they have been allowed to imagine, it is exciting and also a privilege to be able to discuss the process of how a person is handling and interpreting their newfound knowledge. There is something extremely liberating about traveling as a black person from the US where race weighs so heavily in every aspect of life.

That is not to say that while traveling as a black person that you don’t experience discrimination, strange and very long stares and even rude or demeaning comments, but it is to say that you can begin to put into context life in the US and how other people and cultures view the world. Therefore, it is extremely freeing to the point where when I do see a fellow black person, I truly do want to run over, give a hug and say, hey, how are you doing? Like seriously, how are you doing?

One of the beauties of being black in certain countries is that you feel like you fit right in and you are readily accepted. However, that doesn’t quite work for example in Denmark, Sweden or Norway. Have you ever been the only black person on a cruise ship with 500 people?  I have, and it is bizarre! I have never felt more stared at in my entire life than going up to the buffet and feeling hundreds of eyeballs scrutinizing my every move. For the record, I absolutely loathe cruise ships, but for one night, I was able to handle the stress in order to see the Geiranger Fjord. Luckily, it was only for one night or that could have turned into a scene from Get Out, jk. A lesson learned on that trip was to never allow anyone to steal your joy. I may have been the only “one”, but I had fun sipping cocktails, staring back at the people staring at me, taking a zillion photos off the bow of the ship and breathing in the crisp Nordic air.

Another aspect of travel I find interesting is the online travel blog field. Before jetting off to a destination, I enjoy reading travel blogs to find out about cool places to eat, places to stay and other fun things to do. I find it really hard to find blogs and advice about travel written through the eyes of non-white travelers. What is disturbing and what I see over and over again is how often some travel bloggers writing from a white perspective are quick to deem certain places “dangerous” or how they describe feeling “uncomfortable” being the only white person in Tanzania, for example, or how they are surprised by how safe a place is considering the non-white population. I am absolutely baffled by why anyone would expect to show up, for example, in Brazil and feel immediately comfortable in a completely different culture and landscape. Yes, there are certain places where no matter the color of your skin, you will be an automatic target and it truly will be dangerous; and that could just be because you are from the US or other country. Not to mention, what might be “dangerous” for someone with white skin might not be as dangerous for a person with brown skin and vice-a-versa.

On a recent trip to Cuba with two friends, I found it interesting how differently some Cubans treated them in comparison to myself. Needless to say, my experience was quite different from theirs. While I was viewed as just a regular black woman in Cuba and at times, I was asked if I was from Cuba, my white friends were approached with curiosity and men fawned over their “exoticism”. It was actually a relief not to be in the “exotic” category while traveling for once and I relished in not having that kind of pressure or attention. However, in Cuba I received an altogether different kind of attention. My friends and I decided to visit a museum while in the city of Trinidad and during the tour’s exhibit on how tiles for roofs were made back in the slave days, the guide pointed to me, stared at my body and said that I would likely have been making and molding tiles on my sturdy thighs. While I would like to believe that he meant no harm in his comments, these are the kinds of awkward interactions that most white travelers likely never have to think about. However, as the comment sunk in, I stared at my friends looking for some kind of acknowledgement of this now crazy situation and the two of them were in such shock that one covered her mouth in disbelief and the other mouthed, “Oh my &*$& God” as the tour guide led us into the garden. As we stood in the traditional open-air Spanish courtyard, I had a 360-degree view of the roof and wondered how many slaves it took to make it and under what horrifying conditions they were forced to churn out about 2,000 tiles by thigh. I turned around to find my friends still in shock from the guide likening me to a slave and objectifying my thighs on what was likely the worst tour I have ever experienced. It was one of those moments where I wondered what in the hell I had gotten myself into and why this man had chosen to use me as an example. Then, from the bowels of my gut came a laughter that I just could not control which in turn spread to my friends as we tried to find an exit and leave our tour guide which was difficult considering we were the only people on the tour.

All jokes aside, I do find in general that traveling while black affords a different level frustration and confusion at times particularly when many destinations and people are not accustomed to seeing or interacting with black travelers. With every odd and awkward encounter, I learn important lessons about the world, its people and how I fit into this crazy mess of humanity. Importantly, traveling can also be a truly liberating and beautiful experience that far outweighs the negative moments if you remain open even in the face of awkward “very bouncy” encounters.