I started to resent my culture
The first person columns are stories and personal experiences of children written in their own words. For more information and learn to send your own piece, move to the bottom of the page.
Attending a predominantly white school was a challenge for me.
I was born in Ghana and I moved to Canada when I was six years old.
I had difficulty finding common land with other children in Regina, Saskatchewan and building friendships.
The subtle comments and actions of my colleagues often left me feeling isolated.
He made me like the stranger when they commented on my braids, or how fast I could run.
But it was during the month of black history in grade 5 that I really felt the weight of my difference.
I became a tragedy symbol
Our teacher began to discuss the history of blacks in North America, detailing the horrors of slavery and systemic oppression that followed.
While talking, I could feel the eyes of my classmates slowly turning towards me, their glances full of pity.
It was as if it were a relic of the past, a living representation of pain and suffering he was describing.
But the history of blacks in Canada is not my story since I was born in Africa. My family was not enslaved.
I felt confused: Why did the children in the class looked at me and linked me with this story?
They asked me questions as if I had the answers when I had just learned about it.
I remember the teacher saying that slavery still has an impact on black people to this day.
She said the whites killed many of them and their family members.
His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Bennie, when she was 10 years old, the day she and her family made the oath of citizenship and became Canadians. She was born in Ghana. (Image sent by Bennie Krakue)
At that time, I wasn’t just a classmate. I felt like a tragedy symbol, a reminder of a story on which I had no control.
I hated that feeling, the way he made me shrink inside me.
I wanted the month to end and stop being the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.
Things only worsened over time
But he didn’t stop there.
The small apparently harmless comments of my colleagues only reinforced my sense of otherness.
When I came to school with braids for the first time, someone in my class said: “Your head looks like an egg.”
Another chased: “You think one of the slaves of that video we saw.”
His words were cut deeply, and from that day, I avoided getting braids.
I began to resent my hair, which connected to me with my culture.
Those comments planted a seed of doubt that grew with each year.
Bennie, on the right, with his younger brother, Ben, shortly after moving to Canada. (Image sent by Bennie Krakue)
As he aged, things got worse.
What began as “innocuous” questions during the month of black history became absolute racism.
Class companions casually drop the word N, laughing as if it were a joke.
When I tried to speak, they said it was being too sensitive or exaggerating.
So, I learned to stay silent, to laugh and get smaller to fit.
I convinced myself that mixing was better than standing out, even if that meant sacrificing pieces of who I was.
For a long time, I feared the month of black history.
He would pretend diseases, hoping to avoid the discomfort and pain that comes with her.
The racist “jokes”, the looks, the pity, everything felt too much to endure.
Being the only one in the room, feeling so completely alone, is a heavy load to carry.
It is insulating, almost depressing, knowing that no matter how much try to fit, it will always look like different.
How I have changed
All this changed to me in June 2024 after turning 16.
When I opened a friend about how she felt, she pointed out the stress that this was causing me and suggested to tell my older brother, who is 30 years old.
We went to breakfast and broke. I told him everything, about how I was fighting.
To listen was very helpful.
He told me that he was not the first person to feel like that and that he would not be the last.
But he reminded me that this is not a burden that should carry alone and that I have a support system. I was too inside my world to realize that people could help me.
Bennie, center, poses with her two brothers: Ben, right, and Raphael, left, the one who helped her when she was fighting. (Image credit: Raphael Krakue)
I have a group of friends through my Church youth group that are of different origins.
My brother told me that I shouldn’t worry about children at school and concentrate on people who really accept me for what I am.
I felt a great feeling of relief.
He has taken time to unlearn the hatred of himself that he planted in me during those years of training, but slowly claim my identity.
For years, I felt ashamed of my feelings because my parents transferred our family to Canada so that we could have a better education and future.
I felt guilty of letting these people had so much power over my emotions.
I remember when my mother asked me if I was fine, lying and I could see that she didn’t believe me.
After that conversation with my brother, I left my shell.
I have begun to express my emotions and open my mother more without feeling guilty. She has become my best friend.
In spite of everything, I have learned that my differences are not a defect, they are a strength.
My hair, my culture, my story, are not something to be ashamed.
They are part of me, and nothing can take that away.
I feel that the month of black history is not the story of all black people, but I like to learn about that.
Now I am not so sensitive about it and I have also decided to start learning about the history of my own family.
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Higher image credit: sent by Bennie Krakue, graphic design of Philip Street/CBC
