I arrived at the mall and decided to try Debonair’s Pizza. I ordered myself a standard
sized “Something Meaty” and a 500ml Orange Fanta. After my number was called, I found a table at the Food Court and just before I could sit down, I heard it.
“Hey Chinese boy! Yeah, you!”
“I’m not Chinese.”
“(muffled English) Got help me needa get home. Give 500 Rand.”
“Excuse me?”
I looked behind him and saw that he was not alone. He sat at my table and stared at me, but behind him were a group of fairly large guys staring at me. The man at my table turned to look at them, then looked at me and smiled.
“You speak English?”
“Yes, I speak English.” Much better than he could, I might add.
“You sure you understand me? What I say to you?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
He keeps on talking. I cannot understand what he said. All I could focus on was being scared. I sat at a table between two families and they all saw what was happening. Before this man came, they were all chatting away, but now with this strange man at my table, their eyes were all turned to us, but they did not lift a finger.
“Sorry, I just want to eat my lunch now.”
“Okay yah yah eat your lunch, eat your lunch.”
I stuff the pizza in my mouth. I have a hard time swallowing but force the pizza down anyway, not really tasting, just shoving, just to get rid of it, just to have an excuse to leave. Because I felt like I was not allowed to.
I felt nauseous. My body told me to stop, but my hands just kept picking up pizza like mechanics. He sat across from me, just looking at each bite I took. Staring and smiling. His friends behind him, laughing. I am in this adult body, but inside I was shaking like when I was a child. When I was the only Asian kid in an all black elementary school. When I was the only lesbian in my high school locker room. When I couldn’t catch the other person in “steal the bacon” for being too fat as a child.
It is always the same feeling. Some days, I can handle myself. Some days, I feel like this. The confidence comes and goes. But when its gone, I feel vulnerable, weak and afraid.
I was very afraid. These men kept staring at me. The families on either side of me just watched. I think that is what made me most uncomfortable. It was that I did not know what was going to happen, but I knew that other people were watching just to watch.
I kept eating, but this time, slowly. I took my time, acted unafraid and then the man got up, slammed his chair back into the table, looked at me and then walked away. His friends followed him. After that, every few seconds or so I would glance all around me to see if they would come back. I looked to the family to my left and the mother was smirking. But I knew it was over and was thankful that I was in a busy mall and not an isolated restaurant.
I have had a few experienced like these. The NGO I work for had to do a school visit and I went along to help. Visiting the school was something like elementary school for me. I went to predominantly black elementary school and I was the only Asian student in the school. Today, I experienced classic micro-aggressions like:
“Hey, China!”
“Do you know karate? Hi-yah!”
“Can you do a backflip?”
And of course, there was bowing. In one class, a group of boys actually lined up in front of me and bowed one by one. One boy even got creative and tried to imitate Chinese characters in his notebook and asked me to read it to him. Everyone was having a laugh at my expense, including my co-workers. It was all fun and games to them, but I was dying inside. It is not like I am not used to being the ethnic minority. I went to a predominantly black elementary school, a predominantly white high school and a predominantly black college. I am used to these things, but I am human and sometimes I just get really annoyed. I am grateful for my experiences in all the schools I have been to. I think that my schools are one of the biggest factors that have influenced my cultural adaptability. It helps me when I meet new people or when I travel. But it does get annoying when you know so much about other cultures, but they do not know about yours, nor do they try to learn. It does not help that no one can relate. I spoke to my super about today and mentioned what happened. “Well, they thought you are Chinese. Did you tell them you have a black belt in karate?” No, I did not tell them that. It would be untrue. I also did not want to hear a justification for their actions.
A bunch of kids asked for pictures with me. Me specifically, as if I was a tourist attraction. I kept on having to tell myself “You’re a Filipino in Africa. You’re a Filipino in Africa. You’re a Filipino in Africa.” I laughed it off and entertained their jokes. Something told me that even if I tried to correct them, it would not work. The joke already happened and it would not stop. I told them I was Filipino and explained where in the world that was, but it was no use. I was already Chinese in their eyes. I have been bullied and made fun of for different things throughout my lifetime. For being a lesbian, for being overweight as a child, for being a bookwork and for being Filipino. I know I am older now and I know how to handle myself, but my inside still feels like when I was a kid.
I know I stick out in South Africa. I do not belong to any of the major ethnic groups that reside in KwaZulu-Natal: Black South African, White South African, Indian. This will all take much getting used to and many emotional phone calls to my family. I have so much more time here left to go. My mentors and past professors have always commented on my “remarkable ability to adapt” to new environments. Let’s hope they’re right this time.