Learning How to Be Black

by Nabuli Daud

I didn’t know I was black well I mean

I didn’t know I was confined to being black

I didn’t know everything I did tied down to the color of my skin

You see back home, I was just a person but now I’m a black person

I didn’t know my complexion came with difficulties,

I now walk into rooms where my skin speaks louder than my qualifications

Being black disqualifies me before I even get a chance

Put that aside, my accent gives me away because I don’t speak English in a familiar tone

But it matters, it holds traces of my home, a reminder of where I’m really from

Being black means hearing, “You’re so beautiful… for a black girl,” or “You’re really smart… for

 a black girl,” or “Your English is surprisingly good,” like my accent was a hurdle to cross.

But then, when I say the same thing back— when I turn the mirror on you, suddenly, you’re

offended.

So if a compliment can’t handle being flipped, was it ever really a compliment to begin with?

But don’t get me wrong—I love being black.

I love the way the sun reflects on my skin

I love that I can pull off any color like it was meant to be mine

I love how my hair is a crown of its own taking up different shapes and sizes

And just like my hair, I love the diversity of being black—

how black isn’t just one story, one place, one face. There’s Black, the race, woven from histories

worldwide, and there’s me, African, carrying the same sun-kissed tone, rooted in different soil

but growing from the same strength. Different dialects, rhythms, and names we answer to, yet

our melanin speaks fluently

And then there’s our food— the flavors of home, whether here or there, Kisra and Kudra from

my roots, kissed by the warmth of the East African sun,

and the mac and cheese, sweet potatoes

and cornbread that fill the tables here

carrying the taste of home, no matter where I am.

I love the feeling of safety in the company of my own, when I get into an Uber and the

conversation flows, heartfelt and easy, like we’ve known each other forever

There’s comfort in those moments, when a simple nod or smile shared with a fellow says more

than words ever could

So I say my blackness shouldn’t be a burden

It’s Beauty, Intelligence, Community and so much more

So when you speak of my blackness, speak with reverence, for my existence is not an exception

—it’s a masterpiece.