I believe it’s extremely rare for a black person to live in a predominantly white society and not experience racism. I was no exception. I can thankfully say that I’ve only experienced racism as a child, but it was enough to cause an inferiority complex that still persists.
My first encounter with racism was in second grade. It was my first year of school in Bahrain. I still couldn’t speak in the Bahraini dialect and there was still a lot for me to learn about school life.
It was recess, and I was walking peacefully toward a building when suddenly, a girl passing me spitted on me; just like that; for the mere fact that I’m black. I was still new, so she doesn’t even know me. I was too shocked because I’ve never experienced such a thing before, but I was old enough to understand how degrading and hurtful it is. It was too humiliating that I was ready to wipe the spit off my face and pretend that it never happened.
She knew I won’t fight. First, because she knows that black people are usually weak against white people, and second, and most importantly, because she’s the principal’s daughter. The fact that I was older didn’t make a difference. The mortification was amplified because it wasn’t an individual act: her friends cheered her on.
As a child, it was too difficult for me to believe that the principal, who was extremely kind, understanding, and unbiased could raise such a daughter.
I believe the most damaging racist experiences I had were in sixth grade. I moved to a new school, where 90% of the students were Bahraini (my previous school had only 40% of them; the majority were from various Arab and Muslim countries), and I experienced a cultural shock. Most of the students looked neat and had expensive school bags and stationery, and the excellent quality of their uniforms was obvious.
From my first day there, I noticed the racist group distribution in my class: black and fat students were seated together. You can guess where I was seated.
One day, I was walking to my seat in class and wasn’t paying attention, so I accidentally bumped into a classmate walking in front of me. She started huffing and puffing and was extremely angry and disgusted as if I placed a snail on her shoulder.
In PE, we were arranged in rows. It was the same arrangement of students for the whole year. I was one of the tallest in my class, so I was placed at the back of the row. In order for the distance between students in each row to be equal, we were instructed to place our hands on the shoulders of the classmate in front of us. The classmate in front of me had the same notion of “black means dirty,” so she asked me not to place my hands on her shoulders.
The idea that I’m considered “dirty” because I’m black was so embedded in my brain that I was constantly surprised when white people touched me and let me touch them as I grew up. It took a very long time for the idea to change. And I believe it formed the basis for my inferiority complex.
The racism I experienced in school didn’t come only from students. During that same year, we went on a school trip to an indoor play area. At the end of the trip before we left, we were given permission to go to a candy store outside the play area. All the students went, except me and another students. We both didn’t go because we didn’t have any money left (my dad gave me money only for the play area and for lunch).
One of the supervisors noticed that we didn’t go to the candy store, so she opened her purse and took out some money amd gave it to the other student. She looked at me and knew that I didn’t go because I didn’t have money, yet she didn’t give me any (and I can assure you that it wasn’t because she didn’t have enough). She pretended that I wasn’t there. I can still remember how much it hurt me. I didn’t care about the money or the candy; I just wanted to be treated equally. I wanted to feel that I deserve it, too. My friends were kinder than her and shared their candy with me.
And, of course, there was the occasional “nigger” shouted by kids on the street (always boys), where they must always be in a position where I can’t get to them, had I decided to, whether by being in a car or too far off, because, apparently, they were cowards.
I was used to it, so it didn’t bother me much. I just didn’t like it when they called me that outside the school where other students were present, because then they would look at me. I keep wondering how they must have felt or thought. I usually pretend not to hear or see if someone was insulted in front of me, so I keep wondering if they felt awkward and embarrassed for me.
I know that what I’ve experienced is very mild compared to what other people around the world must have experienced, but that’s because people in Bahrain are generally nice and not very racist; the proof is that I never experienced racism after school. Actually, I feel that people are being extra nice to me so they wouldn’t be considered racist.
I don’t know if things have changed now. What I feel, though, is that there aren’t enough black people in Bahrain for parents to ensure that their children are unprejudiced. In school, I was one of two or three black students in my class, and during my first two years of college, I was the only black student in every class.
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