Being Conspicuous

  When I arrived in Lusaka, one of the things I felt for the first time was the feeling of being a significant visual minority. Coming from Vancouver’s melting pot of cultures and races, it was interesting and shocking to be a minority for the first time in my life in a place with predominantly one race. I definitely feel incredibly white here surrounded by black faces. Obviously, this was something I expected, but it’s one thing to think about it from afar and another to experience it first hand. Walking down the street, you are something to look at. I don’t think I’m quite used to being stared or yelled at yet. When we are out walking, cars will honk at us all the time. For the most part, I believe that they are taxis trying to see if we would like a ride. Apparently, it’s unusual for white people to walk anywhere here.

  Then you add Isaac to the mix and when before we were simply something to look at in passing, now we are an attraction. Inter-country adoption is a very new idea here. We definitely stand out walking along the street or while shopping. We are often stopped by strangers wanting to know, “Is that your baby?” I’ve learned that a simple “yes” usually doesn’t cut it. I’ve had people contradict me, telling me that no, that couldn’t be my baby. In one case, I asked a man, “why not”? He responded that our genes were different. I wonder what happens here to parents with biracial children. Maybe these families don’t exist here, I don’t know, but it would certainly be confusing for the children. It’s hard not to feel hurt when strangers feel the need to tell me that the baby I’m carrying is not mine. In my head, I come up with responses that I would like to use, but know that it’s better to walk away. It makes me feel better to come up with these ridiculous responses after the fact – “No, this isn’t my baby, but I saw him on the side of the road so thought I would take him home” or “No, I didn’t birth him from my loins, but he’s still mine”. I’ve found the best response, is to say, “Yes, he’s my son, we adopted him”. This seems to be more readily accepted. It seems that some people have difficulty with the idea that an adopted child could be “yours”. Not all the responses we’ve had have been negative. We’ve had really positive responses from some strangers and I try to remember these responses when faced with someone telling me that Isaac isn’t my baby. To be fair though, I understand the confusion. The idea of a transracial family is very new here and from what I’ve experienced, frankly shocking to some people. I can see people trying to figure us out. I know for myself that when I see a black woman with a white child here, I assume (wrongly or not) that she is the nanny and not the mother. Isaac and I don’t fit the natural assumptions that people have – white women don’t tend to work as nannies here, so I can understand the questions people have of why we are together. I understand them, but it doesn’t always make it easier in the moment when I just want to get through the check-out at the grocery store without getting into a personal history of how my family came to be.  

  The reading and courses you take as part of your home study prepare you for the idea that you will be a “conspicuous family”. I’m learning now what that feels like. I know from the adoption blogs I’ve read that I won’t be able to escape the intrusive comments or stares when we return to Canada, but I hope to have a bit of a reprieve in our beautiful East Van bubble.

  Although, the attention has been uncomfortable at times, I’m glad that I’ve at least experienced the feeling of being a visual minority because this is what Isaac will have to deal with as he grows up in Vancouver. Although, I won’t be able to completely empathize with his experience and the challenges that he will face as a black man in our culture, I have had a brief taste here of what it feels like to stand out because of the colour of your skin. I’ve also been able to for a short time experience what it feels like to have expectations and biases placed on you by others because of your race. As a white woman, I’ve had several people ask me if I could hire them as a nanny. They seemed initially confused when I explained that I would be looking after my own child. Again, another expectation that white women hire nannies. I’m hoping my time here in Zambia will allow me to better sympathize with and support Isaac when he faces the inevitable racism that exists in our culture. As a mother, I know that it will be difficult for me to not go into “momma bear mode” when a hurtful comment is made against the make-up of my beautiful family or my amazing son. I hope that we can arm ourselves with some responses to help us through these situations with grace and patience. So when someone tells me that Isaac’s not my son, I can calmly explain that there’s more to a family than just shared genetics.