SAY. THEIR. NAMES.

“Can daddy die like George or like the jogger mommy”?

Read that again.

I felt the colour drain from my face and that pre vomit taste in my mouth make it’s way to the surface.  That was earlier this morning and about 8 hours later I’m still shook.  The week started heavy enough to hear of this tragedy and then, so innocent but so blatant the question is asked right?

I always knew the day would come when we would have to explain or answer the hard questions about colour, race, religion and more but this was too soon dammit!  I wasn’t ready!  She’s eight!  Last September she was still playing “sisters” with her little blonde haired, blue-eyed friend and fast forward, here we are.

Before anyone bashes me about how she knows about these horrific events, here goes.

With regards to Ahmaud Arbery’s murder she was unfortunately sitting beside me watching a TV show and the video came through my IG feed.  At that moment in time I no idea what I was about to witness.  I hadn’t heard about it or read it anywhere yet. It was that fresh of the press.  She also rarely looks over at my phone but alas.  All I heard was: “mummy is that real or a movie?”.  Sorry folks, we’re honest over here and while my heart shook and my voice trembled I said,

“Yes booboo, sadly, this just happened in the US.  I need to read about it a little more, but it happened, and it makes mummy very sad.”

I don’t think she could comprehend it after a brief conversation afterwards she got distracted and went about her business.

I have since been incredibly careful as to what I open on my phone.  For her, but also for me.  Disclaimer, I have NOT watched George Floyd’s murder.  I can’t and I believe it’s ok not to want to see it.  What’s out there is vivid enough for me.  I still see Ahmaud so no, I can’t.

Back to this morning.  She heard me watching a video where a black man wearing his mask (I presume at George’s funeral) was addressing a group, also black and also wearing their COVID19 masks.  He started saying that he is not ok and telling all black people that it’s okay to not be ok.  I was getting really choked up and her little voice as she snuck up behind me asked, “mommy, who is that and why is he not ok?”  She sked me if I knew him, what happened, where, why…ugh, I just held her for a minute before  I told her that another innocent man was murdered this week and that the gentleman in the video was mourning and grieving.  Here is what followed:

1. 1. 1. Was he black?
      2. Was the killer white?
      3. Nobody saw this? If people saw why didn’t they call the police?
      4. Didn’t this stuff only happen in the old days?
      5. …about a minute went by and she hit me with “can daddy die like George or like the jogger”. At that moment, her little face said everything.  The realization that daddy is black and this can happen.

She. Is. Eight.

I’m literally reliving this 9am convo.  I texted my husband who obviously called me right away.  He was just as stunned and it sucks that we have to have these conversations.  We talked about when we were growing up.  As coloured’s in Cape Town we all lived in the same neighbourhoods, went to school with other coloureds and all our circles were others like us – at least 90% of the time.  I remember racist incidents against me, friends, family.  Gosh, coming to Canada, I’ve experienced both in an out of the workplace too.  It sits with you especially when you’ve dealt with it since childhood.

And now it’s my child who has yet to experience this.  It’s a different feeling. That one where I know I won’t be able to fix it when it happens.  What I do know is that she’ll be armed with knowledge when the time comes.

My husband and I talked about how smart she is to ask the questions she did.  Hell yeah she is, but should she?  At only eight years old?  I’ll leave that there.

Don’t hate because I say coloured. Click on the links for a history lesson if you have the time.

I mean, we knew about apartheid, racism and segregation from much younger than eight years old.  Maybe not the words but we knew it was happening.  Some parents didn’t even talk about it to their kids and some just gave highlights.  I was lucky as in my home as it was spoken about openly.  Sadly, we learnt very little about our own history in school, so we knew what we knew.  Learnt on the streets.  Witnessed way too many atrocities that we shouldn’t have at very young ages.

It’s different times yes, but has shit really changed much?

So, when I say, “say their names” I mean my child will know their names whether it is taught in school or not, she’ll be taught history in due time.  I think my music and iconic athlete lessons will need to evolve – she’s been introduced to Ali, Bob Marley, Prince, Micheal Jackson, Aretha, Brenda (Fassie) and many others.  I give her little snippets of their background, what they stood for and why they were such icons…but is it too soon talk Martin, Madiba, Marcus and others?  After today I don’t think so.

She will know those who fought the good fight “in the old days” as she put it and also the victims of the heinous crimes we are seeing today!  She will know that she matters.  She will know that our black lives matter!

I’ve always kept all my social channels political and religion free, but I feel as a mother and one of colour, I need to share this and have some kind of voice.

This is real.  This world we live in is real.  Every victim, REAL and so we should know and say their names.

Most of all, as a mom, my little girl and all her questions are real.