Jeffrey De-Graft Hanson

Ghana

Black Crime.

My name is Jeffrey. My only crime? I’m black. Black in a white country. I won’t name it here, but you can guess. Put any racist country you want there. Come to think of it, every country has racism and ethnocentrism in it to a degree. But I digress. I’d first arrive and realized how the natives of this land would slightly recoil when I tried to greet them. The uneasy smiles. The way mothers would subconsciously hold their babies tighter around me. The jeers by the little children. I bore it all with a smile on my face. Then it inched its way into my working life. Heck, I should have seen it coming.

When I stepped into the interview room, the man behind the desk raised his eyebrows slightly upon seeing me. He probably thought I had not noticed it. That is when I sat down. He had in his white, veiny hands a copy of my CV. My white friend Julie was waiting outside for the same job interview. They were looking for three workers. Three openings listed. He started to ask me standard questions. With each answer to the questions asked me, I looked him in the eye, giving him detailed answers. He was impressed by my performance. My friend Julie was next. She spent less than 10 minutes in there. After, we both decided to go get lunch.

On our way, Julie receives an email of acceptance, stating that she is to start work next Monday. I congratulate her and wish her all the best. I go home, sit behind my PC and began to cry. Where did I go wrong? It’s not fair.