AMAZING RACE by Sharon Koech

I am obviously a black woman. We all are black women unless, of course, we are lucky or unlucky enough to have a white woman with us today. A Mongloid even. Or a Latino woman (why are you so beautiful? And why are you so confused about your race? How could you not know to which race you belong?), in which case we appreciate you. Welcome aboard. But men, you can go to sleep now. It’s bed time gentlemen. Tuck tight and dream about us.
However, some of us are blacker (read darker) than others and I always ask myself why. Why? Why some us are, well…more endowed with blessings called melanin. Why didn’t The Big Boss up there just make us all the same? You know, evenly distribute this blessing. I mean, we are already black. We do not need to discriminate against ourselves on the basis of colour (our more than fifty shades of black). We already have races to worry about. And besides, I am sure if the darker species were requested to donate some of their melanin to the yellow, semi-orange ones so that afterwards  we can all become an in-between; some kind of brown, they would be willing (more than willing) to do it. We are a generous species. Black people are generous. We are an amazing race.
But then again, I don’t hate this idea of being black. And dark. In fact, I think it’s a really nice thing. I have thought about it. I will admit that I have, once or twice or thrice or four times in my lifetime wished I was a little lighter. Are there times you look at a photograph of yourself and you look so good. So much better. That photo session using your Infinix phone with a flash did you well. Or those times you take a selfie at sunset and a passing ray of light accidentally falls on your face and illuminates it perfectly. And your countenance glows like never before. And you look divine. But of course you know that you are as dark as midnight. Nevertheless, you’re happy. You are very beautiful, aren’t you? You immediately post the photo on Facebook and Instagram. Very good. Let’s see what your friends and followers have to say. Let’s see how beautiful everyone thinks you are.
There are people called light skins. Categorized into two: natural and artificial light skins.
Natural light skins: I really do not want to talk much about these people. They are the ones upon whom the favour of the Lord is bestowed. They make the rest of us look cursed. They who steal our boyfriends. A total betrayal to the black race. A total disgrace. I do not like them. I do not have a light-skin friend. If you are one of them and you think you are my friend, you are living a lie, sister girl.
The artificial light skins are the bunch that really fascinates me. These ones have not only had bad thoughts like me; they have acted upon these thoughts. They have actually done something about the situation. Drastic measures. Wonderful. I do not know what exactly they do to themselves but they transform completely and look like our natural light-skins, only scary. I think they mix up some highly reactive chemicals that totally kill the melanin. Veradication of darkness. Or to be more specific, Verasidikation of darkness. Witchcraft.
We are all wonderfully made, according to my pastor. Well, of course some are fearfully made but that only means people will fear you and not give you shit. And that’s a good thing.
I have never found a good enough reason why anybody would walk around with a bleached face and black elbows and knees. Some even bleach the face alone and so have to wear full necks and maxi dresses and boots and we all think it’s their swag. How hot do they feel? I mean literal hotness? Just being curious, lady, don’t you feel fake? I wonder what would happen if such a person was walking out of Mr. Price, just from checking out full necks; new arrivals. Then they start feeling some discomfort. First at the lower limbs area then higher, higher, at the thighs now. Both thighs and in the boots. More discomfort, pinching…pain. Too much pain. Ants. It’s an ant infestation. It is now widespread and the only way around it is to strip. Down to the skin. Everything from the full neck to the maxi dress down to the boots. We all see your body. Then your face. The contrast. The paradox. The confusion. Some shake their heads in disbelief. Tom Mboya gives a chuckle. Even he knows what is going on. He has seen the spectacle. He has seen it all, everything. He sees everything. He sees all the light-skin Nairobabes that pass by with their crazy crop tops and ridiculous weaves. He is always there. The ever-present, chubby Tom Mboya.
Even those who do not take drastic measures like our artificial sisters still express their dissatisfaction by doing make up of all sorts. But this one doesn’t seem to me like dissatisfaction over skin colour. Even white people do this. Again, I do not understand this witchcraft but I know one thing: after people who do not keep their promises and me when I do not keep mine, I hate makeup. But I won’t say much. I will stop there. I might lose many friends. I can already see Winnie looking at me with “bad eyes”. So I will say no more.
Have you ever walked along River Road, Dubois and other streets down there? Have you seen those women that persuade you to enter their shops to buy some lotions that make all the spots on your body disappear or some gel that smoothens your skin like you can’t believe? They are usually well (sexily) dressed but have you seen their faces? Tragedy. They look pale and they think they attract customers but really what they do is scare them away. Or at least they scare me away. If that’s what the products they sell do to people then no, thanks. I am perfect. Also, these ladies are always holding their phones. And they are always Infinix phones. Always. You can tell. You can spot an Infinix phone from a dozen miles away. Not just because of the crazy noises it makes but many, many other things that make an Infinix phone a particularly interesting device. The other day a very good friend of mine was telling me things about my phone. He is extremely positive and confident that my phone is an Infinix, an allegation I will neither affirm nor deny. That’s not all; he is very sorry for my predicament and has suggested some ways to ocope with being an owner of an Infinix phone:
Infinix phones overheat. It is just a problem that you have to deal with from time to time. Natural occurrence. It is not easy but what do you do? Simple. Go to your gallery. Check your photos. Select photos of people who have sweaters on. Delete them. Oh, and all the hot chicks. Delete them. All of them (God, I wonder if I'll ever be in any Infinix owner's gallery). This action automatically lowers the temperatures. Incredible, right?
Hanging. This happens all the time. But no need to worry. Again reach for your gallery. Select photos of all hard headed individuals. Erase them as soon as possible. Free your phone. Free your Infinix.
See, it’s possible to live happily ever after with an Infinix. It’s all in the gallery.
Now that cosmetics will be taxed in Kenya, what will happen to our ladies? I am very happy because we will all be real. Woe unto you if you were still saving up to buy some bleaching agent. This is a sign. Change your plans. Go buy chips and chicken at Altona and have a good time. You need to have a good time. You do not need to change yourself. You do not need bleaching agents. With your dark skin and black, kinky African hair, you're just fine. No, you're perfect. Gal, you are perfect.