There seems to be a craze among Africans, especially women, to lighten their skin today. In Nairobi, for example, the common joke is that one cannot tell which woman is ‘brown’ and which one is ‘yellow’ due to a long and rigorous relationship with creams and tablets. What is even more shocking is that not even the constant warnings about the dangers of skin lightening creams and procedures will put us down; we must achieve that supposedly adorable and ever elusive skin complexion.
In Kenyan parlance, the concept of skin lightening has even got a name – “kutoa tint.” There is a misconception that light skin looks better, is more beautiful, than dark skin, and that light skinned people get better opportunities in life – a job, a spouse, or social recognition.
This preference for light skin complexion might perhaps explain why some people will treat white people better than their black counterparts. We have often heard people complain about waiters at hotels giving white patrons preferential treatment while treating black patrons with spite.
What is this obsession with ‘whiteness?’ Why do we hate ourselves so? This kutoa tint business is the subject of Igoni Barrett’s novel, Blackass (Chatto & Windus, 2015). Blackass tells the story of Furo Wariboko, a Nigerian man who wakes up one morning and finds that he has turned into a white man. This transformation happens on a day he is supposed to attend a job interview and he escapes from home without saying a word to his family because he does not wish to shock them with this new look. For a man who is jobless, broke, hungry, and still trying to come to terms with his newly acquired identity, Furo is shocked at how different the world looks and feels when one is ‘white.’ For instance, while he had applied for the position of salesperson, he is offered a marketing executive job, without much effort – complete with an office, a salary he would never have imagined, a car, and a personal driver. His boss’s only concern is if Furo has identity documents that confirm that he is Nigerian. Every person that he meets is shocked that a white man not only has a Nigerian name but also speaks with a Nigerian accent.
Furo cannot go back home because his family does not know that he is now a white man. Being white opens hitherto unimaginable doors for Furo. Homeless and worried about how to survive until he begins his new job a week later, he is surprised that a young woman called Syreeta, who overhears him asking a stranger to house him for a few days, offers not only to house and feed him, but somehow becomes his ‘girl friend.’ Syreeta takes him to her house and takes care of him as if she has known him all her life. It is only later that he discovers that all of Syreeta’s friends have white husbands and that his presence in her life fulfills her desire to be like her friends.
The boss hires him because he hopes that hiring a white man will help him push sales for his company. When Furo goes to deliver books (which is what his company sells) in other companies, the managers at those companies offer him employment at a much higher salary and other benefits. In addition, people on the streets give him special attention – after all, it is not every day that a white man walks among them. Furo has to adjust to being white, especially because his name and accent single him out as a strange white man, and deal with the complexities that come with his new identity.
Too complicated
First, he has to get a passport in which his picture reflects the white man that he is. Second, he has to get a new name because Furo Wariboko does not sound authentically white. Third, he has to create a story to explain to those around him why he sounds so Nigerian. Fourth, he has to try and change his passport yet again to reflect his new name. Fifth, his girlfriend is pregnant (she has been desiring a mixed-race baby) and he knows he will not be able to explain the baby’s looks once it arrives. Furo’s life is just too complicated.
The twist in the story is that while Furo is a white man, his backside remains black hence the title of the novel – Blackass. It is a scathing satire on Africans’ craze for not just whiteness but anything foreign. Furo’s experiences show just how vain it is to desire to be an ‘other.’ The characters who treat him differently because he is white are a reflection of just how much Africans despise themselves. As a black man, Furo could not get a job or be treated decently at eateries. As a white man, he gets a job without as much as a struggle and everyone is out to please him. Syreeta comes across as a naïve and pathetic character who welcomes a total stranger into her home and gets intimate with him just because he is white and will therefore give her a ticket to the esteemed club of women dating or married to white men.
Furo’s story allows us to see just how much our society is wretched. People easily talk to him about the ills of Nigerian society because they believe they need to ‘apologise’ for the sorry state of affairs, somehow believing that a white man should not have to experience the nasty life that the locals live. Somehow we accept our mediocre systems that make us believe that we are not good enough – that we need to look different to lead better lives; that only light skinned or white people deserve to have great lives.
The question that Blackass raises is really about how often we loathe ourselves and lay ourselves out for ridicule by other people. Why are we so attracted to things and looks foreign instead of accepting who we are? Why is it that we would rather buy imported goods rather than those made locally? The ruling elite run down our school system while they take their children to white-run schools; they run down the health sector and seek medical care in Europe and America. Public works are assigned to foreign contractors yet there exist local companies with experts who can do the work at affordable costs.
Is this self-hatred why suddenly, people in public spaces look lighter and are ever trying to speak with a ‘white’ accent? It seems like one cannot join certain ‘clubs’ unless they look and act the part. Barrett’s argument is that however much bleaching we subject our skins to, we will, like Furo’s backside, remain black. Our ridiculous desire to look ‘white’ leaves our black backsides terribly exposed – and others see right through our phony exteriors. Blackass is an incredibly woven story that readers will find tremendously stimulating.
- The writer teaches Literature at the University of Nairobi. jennifer.muchiri@uonbi.ac.ke
