Please press play:
Hey…come a little closer, I’ve got a secret for you. Just a liiiiiil bit closer. You have to promise to keep this between you and me. Pinky swear? Okay…
MY WEST INDIAN BACKGROUND DOES NOT MAKE ME A TROPICAL JUNGLE ENCHANTRESS. I do not sleep atop green, gold and red velvet throw pillows under a canopy of spun silk, nor do I have man-servants which I beckon with a snap of my gold-ringed fingers. When I sashay from room-to-room, my hip movements are not accompanied by the soft beat of a bongo drum. But make no mistake, I DO sashay.
I assumed I escaped this ridiculous stereotype when I ended my affair with online dating. But no, a potentially innocent approach turned tragic in the blink of an eye. I was asked where I was from (obviously my actual birthplace doesn’t matter because I’m black, you see. Only my background is relevant… *single blink*) and then he proceeded to “speak Jamaican” and ask me about “that ganja” and “sweet, reggae music.” Still Jamaicanly-accented, he goes into the famine of my people, how he wouldn’t know what to do in a tiger attack, tribes and the jungle. WHAT?! Oh, I get it…Jamaica and the entire continent of Africa ARE THE SAME!
There are so many cons I feel I must list them:
- Blatant disregard of my personal life details
- Stereotypes in abundance
- No basic geographical knowledge
- The worst attempt at patois since I-don’t-know-when
- His breath (did I forget to mention that?)
- He’s cray-cray
- He made me laugh
So, I gave him my number* cuz beggars cannot be choosers…na’mean! Do you think he’ll call??? Nothing like a morning at Starbucks.
*I did NOT give him my number!