My Afro-Latina Identity Is a Gift... But I Didn't Always Feel This Way
Huffington Post - about 2 years
The first time I was called a "nigger," it was by white Latinos. I was 8 years old.
The memory is really painful and defining. Back in the 1970s there wasn't a name for what I was. I was a kid whose mom was a light-skinned Dominican and whose dad was a darker-skinned Jamaican.
I was darker than both of them.
I did not understand my identity. I had no Southern roots, no soul food and no connection to the civil-rights movement. Instead I had my Caribbean family, led pretty much by my daring, immigrant mom, who cooked Dominican food, spoke to us in broken English and Spanish, taught me and my sister to dance the merengue and painted the walls of our New York City tenement in pinks, blues, greens and yellows, as though she were still living in Santo Domingo.
So there I was, on the border of Harlem, in an elementary school that was 95-percent Latino. During recess a group of light-skinned Latino boys made it very clear to me that dark skin was bad. According to them, I was no
Huffington Post article