STUDIO83

I am a Tswana-Italian mixed up girl. This combination has always caused confusion in my life which has become a common trend in most of the things I do. I tend to feel torn and in-between like I don’t know where to go. Sitting on the fence, that’s what they call it, finding it hard to choose which side to land on due to the obvious rejection waiting once you get down. What I have done though is that I landed on the one side (Tswana) and now I am just about ready to get to the Italian side.

I can tell you that I really appreciate being this weird mix but truth be told, it would be easier to be one or the other. You may say that I am lucky, that I should be happy that I am an assortment of pleasures, don’t get it twisted, of course I am!! I know that I can only be me and me being the beautiful person that I am, I am proud. But you must remember that from a third person’s perspective, you may disregard the effects of being a combination of two rich and varying culture and that every one goes through their own difficulties their way. Firstly, I grew up the Tswana way as my mom educated and enriched me
with her African background. Throughout, however, I was continuously
picked at by my peers that I was either too light or my bum was not as round.

I remember my cousin always teasing me saying that I was almost- but-nie–stamper an albino.

It was strange at that time; I had no clue why this was going on. Needless to say I always felt out, all I really wanted as a kid was
Familiarity but the constant noting of my light skin and softer hair left me in isolation. As a rebel, I decided that I was going to be even more different. If you are not the same then you might as well be the best different you can be, that was my motto. It took me far, instead of feeling ashamed of myself, I started to celebrate and make peace with my differences, for instance, I have always left my hair in its natural curly state, well, mainly because I have an undying fear for brushes but you get my point. I have never known what to call myself. I have always insisted that I was black. I still do but I still get the occasional “Yo, I though you were coloured” which irritates me no end. I am not coloured, there is nothing with being coloured but I am not coloured, take my word for it. I may look like it but that is just the natural classifying that people do.

Recently though while writing an editorial on interracial dating, I stumbled across the word mulatto, which for those that don’t know, is a first generation biracial descendant. That’s me, feels strangely comfortable to finally be able to identify myself after such a long struggle. I have always had identity issues with being the product of an interracial relationship.

I know who I am as a human being but as a racial group, it has always baffled me and being in a country where there is so much emphasis on race, it has been a gripe.

My attitude toward my Italian culture, however, was an indignant “I don’t want to have anything to do with it!” My Italian father has had nothing to do with me before he passed away, whether it was by choice or circumstance, I eventually let go of the anger as I matured and started to grasp the complicated dynamics of relationships. Now as I plan my trip to Italy, I wait in excitement to see, to smell and to taste all that is Italian so that I am hopefully able to reconnect with my roots.

Lerato Mmutle