By: Nadine Dirks for ACTIVATE! Change Drivers

Growing up as a young, coloured girl on the Cape Flats was a hardship in and of itself, but poverty and violence aside. It was so much more than just the day-to-day struggles to survive. We had all been socialised by the apartment regime to view ourselves in a very particular way, in many ways, it was to ensure we knew our place in the hierarchy. As coloured people, colourism and texturism ran rampant and controlled our lives.

Saturdays were the days when little girls had to sit for hours relaxing, rolling their hair up pinned down with painful pins, sitting under a hood that burned one’s ears into oblivion. Then the different-sized brushes to manoeuvre each piece of unruly hair into sleekness no matter how much it burnt, aunties would scold “Keep your head still, I will pull” to ensure the hair was stretched out as much as possible. Then of course came the swirlkous to wrap the hair and hold it in place before church on a Sunday. Going to church meant looking your best but also showing off attire, hair, and other trivial things that could be counted as somewhat superior.

I grew up with two coloured parents, one with the light-skinned and straighter hair variety and one with darker skin, a broader nose and tight curls. My sister and I were always reminded by our family members how different we were and how we looked like my dad’s family. I was too young to fully understand the implications of looking like my father’s family. The entire notion seemed asinine considering that we were all related and happened to be the same ethnicity.

School was no different, the children with sleek hair liked to remind the rest of us that they were “Cape Malay” and of Asian ancestry, unlike the rest of us. I recall making koesisters with my grandma and taking some to school to share, some refused but one of the little girls seemed annoyed. She scowled at me and asked “How do you know how to make koesisters?”, I smiled and proudly announced “My grandma taught me how” before being met with the gut punch. “How can your granny teach you when you’re a boesman.” I unknowingly had infringed on a war of identities that existed long before me but still had an ugly legacy.

When my hair was naturally curly at school, my friend at the time, I am sure meant well, told me that I should blow dry and straighten my hair instead because I always looked neater that way. I couldn’t understand how. On the other hand, my nose had started to become a topic of discussion with the other children calling me “doughnut” because of the shape of my nose. It felt so bizarre considering some of the kids’ noses were just like mine. I started to feel ashamed of my nose and even up to adulthood hated my nose and tried not to draw attention to it.

Matlhogonolo Maboe, a clinical psychologist shared that we should be mindful around children. She states that “we must be open-minded and allow for discussion without imposing ourselves onto children.” This may be an interesting way for communities to re-evaluate identity and what it means today instead of yesteryears.

Recently I had headshots taken and found myself really engaging with my bare, up-close, and personal view of my face from different angles. The penny dropped in that moment, there was nothing wrong with me or my nose, My features were beautiful and told a story of my rich ethnic background and the fact that I am an African. My nose was meant to be rounded, my cheekbones were supposed to be prominent, and my hair was meant to be kroes. The weight of the world slid off my back, I no longer felt the need to allow my socialisation to control my perception of beauty, neatness, or hours of pain to appear different.

I considered how the texturism and colourism in the coloured community affected our ability to feel included. I often heard from adults around me that no one cared about us or advocated for us. I have since thought it may be because of our deep inclination to shapeshift to be the better Black or to create additional hierarchical systems within our ethnic group. Worse yet our failure to acknowledge our African-ness and Blackness, in ignoring these labels and distancing ourselves from it perhaps we’ve created a sense of “better than” or “others” which aids the idea that no one cares about us. Perhaps it is simply because when we hear government and other authorities say “Black” we decide that that does not include us before acknowledging who we are first. Furthermore, Ms Maboe reiterates that “we should allow a space for belonging wherein there is an environment of mutual trust and respect.”

Through my unpacking, research, mulling over, and having conversations with various people, I have realised that maybe we should consider Coloured under the umbrella of Black just as we do with other tribes.

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About the Author:

Nadine Dirks is a member of the ACTIVATE! Change Drivers Writers’ hub, she also is a prolific writer, opinion-maker, activist and communications expert. Her work, interests and expertise lie in intersectional feminism, gender, and sexuality and include sexual and reproductive health and rights, particularly of marginalised people. Her work can be found in publications worldwide. She is especially dedicated to women’s health because of her own lived experience. She is an author, public speaker, moderator, and panellist. Her work in civil society spans over a decade. Her hopes are to bring people out from the margins and into the centre of their own narratives. Nadine’s work has been recognised internationally by entities such as the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. Nadine is passionate about creating a more equal and sustainable society through awareness, inclusion, and transformation. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in Women and Gender Studies.