I’m not black.

Well I am,

I’m just not black enough.

I’m not black according to my fellow Zimbabweans or I’m not black enough for other Africans. However, my skin colour says otherwise. I’ve been dubbed that super cringe-y title “Oreo”. You know, that super tasty biscuit? Well, as tasty as it may be, being called an Oreo has and always will be an insult.  When someone calls you an Oreo they basically mean you’re white on the inside and black on the outside. You’re too white for the black kids and too black for the white kids. Simply put, being called an Oreo means you act white. (Insert eye roll).

 You’d think people who call you an Oreo would be more original with the other titles or synonyms for Oreo right? WELL, you’re wrong. It gets worse because synonyms for Oreo include: coconut or salad. The term “coconut” has the same connotations as an “Oreo” and “Salad” means you’re spoilt and frail…just like a salad, I guess.

My many, many, many experiences of being called an Oreo

For starters, I’m not black enough because I speak a lot of English. Since when did speaking a language determine one’s race?

I’m not black enough because I mostly listen to rock music or k-pop instead of Jah Prayzah or Holy Ten and Amapiano. Honestly, the shock on my friends’ faces when I actually sing along to a Nigerian song is surreal. People make statements like this when I bop my head to any African song; “I can’t believe you know this Daliwonga song” or “Nonkosi actually knows a Nigerian song?” These comments are a tad irritating (okay, I’ll be very honest, these comments are extremely irritating). Just because my music tastes are broad, doesn’t mean I’m unaware of African music. Apparently, the premise of being black (in Zimbabwe of course) in terms of music preference or musicality is set on the basis that the music one listens to is Zimbabwean, South African, Ghanaian or Nigerian amongst other African music.

I’m also not black enough because of the way I articulate myself or the way I dress. I’ve been told that I don’t have a Zimbabwean accent (what even is a Zimbabwean accent?). There’s always someone picking and prodding away at anything I say or do than coming to the conclusion that I’m an Oreo.

I can’t tell you how many parents and adults have called me a salad (isalala). I remember when I was sent to a neighbours to buy mbida (kale in English). The gardener led me to the garden and told me to start picking the mbida, so I pulled up my pink pants and prepared myself to traverse the vegetable garden. The owner of the house immediately stopped me and told the gardener that he was silly. She said and I quote her exact words, “Why would Nonkosi pick mbida? She doesn’t know how to do that. She’s a salad…you know that.”

I’ve even had a biracial classmate of mine say I’m the “White Girl” of the class. (This biracial classmate was half-white mind you. He was closer to the white race than I’ll ever be.) So I’m not only an Oreo to black people, but I’m an Oreo to biracial/mixed/coloured people as well. WILL IT EVER END?

There was even one guy whose company I enjoyed, who said he liked me but would never date me because I was too urban for him. I kid you not he said urban so carefully like he was looking for a way to avoid saying I was “white-washed”. Because people often called me an Oreo, I always felt left out. I still feel left out at times. I couldn’t relate with any of my friend groups because all of my interests were “whitewashed” or “weird” (insert eye roll).

I often felt alone so I went about trying to change myself. I ditched the rock music and pop music on my playlist and opted for Amapiano songs instead. I basically forced myself to appeal to my “friend” groups and even changed the way I spoke by adding more tribal slang into my speech, but it was never enough. I still got called an Oreo no matter how much I moulded myself to fit everyone’s standard. I realised that no matter how I spoke or dressed, I was always going to be dubbed the white girl of my class. The worst part was that I was unhappy because I wasn’t being myself. I felt like an imposter.

Some people who call me an Oreo always claim that I’m spoilt or I’ve never worked a day in my life. People tend to assume that everything comes easily to me. These assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth. These harmful assumptions often downplay my struggles or pain. People’s assumptions about me result in said people invalidating my feelings or opinions because they think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Since my feelings were always being invalidated, I learnt to conceal them. I knew that no one would take my feelings seriously if I expressed them.

I can take racism from different races because what they say to me doesn’t matter, but being shunned and actually facing discrimination from my own people because of who I am will always be a different kind of pain.

The problem.

So what is the definition of being black? Is it having a specific personality? These are questions I’ve asked myself a billion times seeing as how people call me an Oreo because of my personality. If being black is defined by one’s personality, isn’t that an insult to the black race as it stops the world from seeing blackness as diverse?  Doesn’t the Oreo term reduce black people to one stereotype? Doesn’t the term Oreo place black Africans under one monolith or one umbrella? When you call a black person an Oreo because of their mannerisms or the way they dress, you’re basically saying that black Africans can’t speak English or they can’t be literate, you’re saying they cannot enjoy k-pop, rock music or Tame Impala or anything considered alternative. You’re basically saying a black person can’t be authentic. You’re claiming that every black person is the SAME! Do you see the problem?

 The funny part is that black people who call other black people Oreos get very angry when the media presents the stereotypical caricature of an uneducated and illiterate black African, yet they are very quick to promote that stereotype by shaming black Africans who don’t act like the stereotype or act “traditionally” black. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE PEOPLE!

When you call someone an Oreo you’re actually glorifying whiteness, further instilling the belief that whiteness is the highest level of society. When you call someone an Oreo, you’re claiming that the only race allowed to be articulate, literate, different, authentic or adventurous is the white race. When you call someone an Oreo, you’re placing another race on a pedestal whilst belittling your own and that’s very dangerous to growth.

Then there is the other half of the spectrum who get super offended when I tell them I’m not happy about being called an Oreo, nor do I enjoy being called said Oreo or Salad or whatever food items they come up with to liken me to the white race. They think being called an Oreo or Salad is some sort of compliment or a badge of honour if you will, but it’s not. If anything, it’s an insult. Not to mention the fact that it exposes just how much some of my fellow Africans idolise whiteness and deem it the highest form of society.

The solution

If you have ever called someone an Oreo, I implore you to stop. Just stop. This harmful label leads to the alienation or discrimination of some of your fellow black brothers and sisters. If anyone has ever called you an Oreo, educate them on why it’s insensitive to label someone an Oreo. However, this solution is less likely to have an impact, but it’s worth a try.

If you educate people on why the Oreo term is harmful yet they continue to call you and others Oreos or coconuts, it’s time to ignore it. I know it’s much easier said than done but you can’t internalize these labels or you’ll be severely unhappy. This is probably the most effective solution because humanity is so set in its ways and habits.

Remember that you’ll always find your tribe. You’ll find people who love you and support you for who you are. There’s no reason for you to try and change yourself so you can belong because you’ll be trading your happiness for people who don’t even like you for who you are. It’s just not worth it. (I know it sounds super cliché but it’s true).

Lastly, no one gets to define my blackness, therefore no one should define yours. So don’t let them.

– The “Weird” Brown Girl

Testimonials

Below are audio recordings of people who have been subjected to being labelled an Oreo, a salad, or a coconut…you get the idea. They have come forward to deliver their testimonials and for their privacy, they will remain anonymous.