It\u2019s the new year and I currently live in Byron Bay. Beyond all the wonders the Byron shire has to offer, I\u2019ve discovered many elements I was longing for: a tight-knit community of friends, great food, wellbeing and nature. I feel so privileged to be in this safe and beautiful place yet at the same time I feel very triggered.<\/p>\n
I am conscious that I have only a limited experience of Australia, having been here for less than a year. But, as a nomad, this is the first time I haven\u2019t seen anyone that looks like me. It feels strange to be acutely aware of standing out. Previously, I have spent a big part of my nomadic life in the Global South (an umbrella term for the world besides Western countries \u2014 covering Africa, South East Asia, South America and a part of Oceania). In Australia, however, I get so excited when I see someone with curly dark hair or brown skin. I cannot help but wonder \u2026 Australia is a country of immigration, where the native population has dark skin \u2014 why did I only meet a majority of Caucasian people, with a few exceptions of Asian heritage?<\/p>\n
I know that part of the answer is that I have mostly been in wealthy areas. As any immigrant landing somewhere, I always look for my tribe \u2014 people with whom I share an experience of reality. Since I arrived in this country, my gut feeling or ngangk pi\u2019an (the language used by Aboriginal Tyson Yunkaporta in his highly recommended book Sand Talk) has been to learn about Indigenous culture<\/a> and meet Aboriginal people. Is it because First Nation ancestors came from the same land as mine \u2026 Africa? Or is it just because I miss being around people who look like me? Do I resonate with their challenges because of my background in social change or because of my experience as a BIPOC (black, indigenous, and people of colour) in Western countries?<\/p>\n During my time here, my partner and I went to a beautiful new age gathering in the Blue Mountains. The land was stunning and the people sweet. I felt very much at home with all the love and care common to these spiritual retreats. Still, as an activist and a person familiar with micro-aggressions, I noticed the details that remind me of my difference. My eyes saw that my name tag was spelt incorrectly, my ears caught the sole absence of my name in the closing circle of gratitude where instead I got referred to as my partner\u2019s \u201cbeloved\u201d.<\/p>\n As we were hugging everyone goodbye, the hostess asked me, \u201cWhat are your routes\u201d? I thought she was using an Aussie expression, so I started listing our travel plans back to Canberra. She interrupted me to say, \u201cNo, I\u2019m asking for your roots, your origins.\u201d When I understood my mistake and her question, I felt my belly squeezing and blood rushing to my face. I know, with the word she chose, that she didn\u2019t mean to be rude. But the result was the same \u2014 just another way of asking me \u201cwhere are you from\u201d? For someone who’s been trying to blend in for years in various semi-hostile environments, this question is never neutral. I dismissed my unease and answered with an awkward laugh that I was \u201cfrom Morocco\u201d.<\/p>\n The brilliant author Taiye Selasi has a Ted Talk titled Don’t ask me where I’m from, ask where I’m local. I would rather state, \u201cDon’t ask me where I’m from, ask for my story.\u201d Stories are the best way to learn about each other. Conversations about identity, migrations and otherness take time to unravel. BIPOC often carry trauma from years of microaggressions. Racism is systemic and we all have a role to play in this humanity game.<\/p>\nDon’t ask me where I’m from, ask where I’m local<\/h2>\n