Tag Archives: French

who knew language had color?

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In Paris people are always asking me where I’m from because of my accent. It throws them because I don’t have quite the heavy American accent when I speak French. And frankly my accent, just like my culture is a mixture of all the places I’ve lived in so far: Madrid, Brooklyn, and now Paris. A blend obviously hard to pin-point, when once again people feel the need to put me ‘the speaker’ in a box. When I speak Spanish, I have a Spaniard accent, but that can’t be quite right, since I’m black. When I speak English, it’s okay, because they are used to black Americans speaking English, even before president Barack Obama.

And when I tell them where I’m from, they still ask: but what’s your origin? Because saying Spain three times never sinks in. I’m after all black. Well imagine my delight when I had a chance to ask that question to a couple of black Irish 20-something guys in Paris last week. But when I asked, where are you guys from, it had nothing to do with their “origin”, and more about their experience as Afro-Europeans. And my question didn’t even say anything about place of birth , I simply said: what was it like for you growing up in Ireland?

We all shared a look, and smiled. The smile and look that said, yes, I know exactly what it was like for you, because I lived it too. Apparently they always get the: Wow I can’t believe how great you speak English ( or any European language) look. Which they always respond with: that is the only language I speak. I’m guessing somewhere in their highly developed brains, some people expect people of color to always have ‘an accent’ when speaking.

I brought this up to my Spaniard roommate, and this was his take: Well Ines just how you were the only black kid in school in Spain some 30 years go, some Spaniards have never come in contact with a black person. Some have never left their small town or travel abroad, and to them seeing you speak their language is a shock.

Really? Who knew the color of my skin would dictate my language as well. Well I’m happy to shock them in English, Spanish and French. Portuguese is next.

The culture puzzle

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In my own skin I’m more than enough. It’s the rest of the world that is a challenge.

When I moved to Paris last January, I was pretty sure of what my adventure would be about: learning French, writing, seeing the world and living life on my terms. Instead, Paris has turned into an adventure of self-discovery, race, culture and belonging.

Every day that I live in Europe, I realize more and more what a culture puzzle I am. To some I’m a woman of African descent, but not a ‘real African’ because I  was born and raised in Spain. For many I’m not a real Spaniard, because my skin is black. And for the rest who feel the need to label me, I’m the American in Paris.

And that label – ‘American’ is what surprises me the most. During the 20 plus years that I lived in New York, I never felt American – but now I feel that more than ever. Maybe that old cliché really is true: you can take a girl out of Brooklyn, but you can never take Brooklyn out of the girl.

For now, I define myself as an Afro-European who was raised in New York, and who for the moment lives in Paris.

When I lived in New York, I was proud to say that I was born and raised in Madrid. Always reminiscing about my childhood, my family and friends. How being the only black kid from kindergarten to 7th grade didn’t faze me, because when I went home there were kids my age who looked like me. Children who called Spain home, the only country we knew. So what if nobody played with me during recess? I was happy to read and dream imaginary worlds. It was the beginning of an isolation that eventually became a part of me.

I think that isolation (or wall, as my best-friends would say) is what helped me survive moving to New York as a child. Where once again everything about me was different. Yes I spoke Spanish, but for the Latin Americans I had the accent and traditions of the “Conquistadores”, so I was never really part of their of culture, because I didn’t have the Latino experience. I had many African-American friends, but for them I was a ‘different’ kind of black, because no one in my family was born on American soil. A blend of many, but not enough of anything.

So where does that leave me now, as the Afro-European woman raised in Brooklyn traveling through Europe? Who am I? What culture do I identify with? Today, this is the answer to the puzzle that works: I am a woman who belongs nowhere, but makes a home everywhere she goes.