I’m not a racist but…

I live next door to white people of a certain kind, and they act very strangely.

They don’t talk to me or my family. They must not have been raised right because everybody else I know at least fakes a smile for the neighbours – it’s just the done thing. Perhaps they’re anti-est, my neighbours, all about rule-breaking and bucking the trend. I don’t know whether that house is some kind of commune or not, but there sure as hell are a lot of people coming and going from my neighbours’. Someone should tell them that their crookedly parked cars bring down the tone of the street, and would they please stop smoking by my gate? I don’t like it. Thanks.

You can also tell them that I don’t bite, that nobody who enters my premises eats white people, or any people really– frankly I think they’d be rather stringy – so they don’t have to wait until our gate is closed and locked or until I’m out of sight down the road before getting out of their cars.

I have a message for those kinds of white people:

Tell them that I don’t care what they do or where they go and would they please afford me the same privacy. If I want to sit in a car outside my house they don’t need to call the security guys. Those guys are just going to come and hit on me anyway, and then crack jokes about paranoid white people who call for security when they see their black neighbours sitting in cars – and this is daytime, mind you. Seriously white neighbours, you’re not doing yourself any favours by crying wolf every time you see me out there. I have a baby, I’m going to chill a bit and catch my breath before rushing into all things mothering. She’s going to be a baby for a while yet so y’all might as well get used to seeing me out there. Ok? Thanks.

You would think that since we sometimes run into each other coming or going they’d have gotten used to the fact that they live next door to a black family, but no. These kinds of white people still exhibit all the signs of fearing Mandingo and his ilk. Before you say maybe my partner is a big black brute and they’re right to fear him – no, and that’s all I’m saying about that.

At first I didn’t notice the neurotic behaviour. I’d pull up to my gate and the guy or gal in the next car would look over but look away before making eye contact. No neighbourly greetings and borrowed cups of sugar over here. I’m lucky if I get a ‘good morning’, and I’ve stopped being the one to say it first. At some point you get tired, and I reached that point about a year ago. Perhaps I look scary, what with my pretty face and my afro hair, not to mention my swinging hips and ‘killa’ lips…

Here’s what I think: my neighbours and white people like them need to get over the fact that black people no longer have to cross the street for them, serve them, cook their meals, clean up their nasty-ass houses, or wipe the snotty noses of their insolent children that they teach to be bigger racists than they are. As they are so fond of saying, apartheid ended twenty years ago and they must just deal.

They need to get over the fact that they are no longer wholesale benefitting from black exploitation, and get over the fact that we know that what they have now they came by via the afore-mentioned exploitation of black people and black resources. The ‘natives’ in the ‘colonies’ built this continent and the Americas and…and… All that white people have, they have because people who look like me worked. For nothing. Yes, I’m playing the race card because it’s not over yet: white people still fear black people for no other reason than that melanin on fleek, and until they get over that and the associated behaviour, the race card remains in the deck and they must just deal.

I’m not a racist but these kinds of white people need to get over themselves. Finish and klaar.