Whether in the Caribbean, Latin America, or Africa, traveling to a predominately black location can be difficult as a black traveler. The cultural and historical diversity within the African diaspora has created uniquely connected yet disconnected cultures, traditions, and identities. As a black traveler in countries with an African presence, your skin color, race, identity, and racial authenticity are constantly being shaped, challenged and broadened.

I have always been black. Blackness has been engrained in me since I was a youngster in Chicago, and it is very much so a part of my identity.  However, my blackness was constantly challenged this past semester when I had the opportunity to study abroad and live with host families in a variety of communities in South Africa. As a black woman in Cape Town, South Africa, given their racial theories and categories, my race, ethnicity and heritage were confronted on an everyday basis. Black Americans are a diverse community that have a variety of skin tones and hair textures, but because of this diversity we can occupy a complex position in South Africa. My identity oscillated between black and coloured, a racial group in South Africa that denotes black, European, and Asian ancestry, on a daily basis. It was only known through my voice rather than my appearance that many times people realized that I wasn’t from there. Unlike members of my cohort, I had a privilege of ambiguity, where onlookers questioned my identity.

Until I opened my mouth and South Africans realized that I was American, their perceptions changed towards me and was even reflected in the ways that they treated me. The ways that South Africans perceived me and classified me solely based on phenotypical characteristics impacted the ways in which people responded to me and uniquely shaped my overall experience.  I recall a particular day when my friend ,CJ, (who happens to be white) and I got on a taxi in Langa, a black township right outside of Cape Town. The driver turned around and began to speak Xhosa to me. Even after I told him that I only spoke English, he continued to speak in Xhosa. After a minute of talking in Xhosa and me responding in only English, he finally spoke to me in English and told me that I should accept my blackness and not conform. Clearly, he must’ve had some earwax in his ear, and he did not hear my American accent, but he consistently wanted to push his conceived identity on me despite my own identity as a black American.

When I lived in Langa, my host-family accepted me as a black person in their community. When I arrived, I wore my hair in either a big afro or braided. My Langa mother’s friend even told me, “I could be a part of the family”. They knew that I was an American, but I was able to physically blend with my host family and the people in the neighborhood.

Interestingly, enough, when I moved to the Cape Malay “coloured” community I was again accepted, but now as a part of the coloured community. In Bo Kaap, a Cape Malay coloured neighborhood, I was blatantly told that (mind you, by someone who was darker then me) I should stop saying I was black, and in South Africa I was coloured. To them, they believed that saying I was black was denigrating and it was one of the worst insults. Their perceptions were obviously tainted by historical and colonial thoughts, but it was also reflective of the different perspectives of blackness around the world. I was able to oscillate at any point from being black to being coloured to being who knows what else. These experiences highlighted the fact that there is no clear boundary or definition of who is considered black or coloured.

While this is my experience, all of the Black American experiences cannot be summarized within a tightly constructed paragraph. The ways in which blackness is understood abroad is unique. Yet, each person’s experience is informed by a multitude of factors. The complexity and plurality of the black American experience abroad provides a narrative of the complex intertwining of race, class and nationality. There have been countless recounts of Black Americans returning to the “mother land” and not being accepted as they thought they would be. It is a mind-f&%  to say the least when you visit nations of the African Diaspora and people look exactly like you, but there are little if any acknowledgement of similar roots and culture.


Saidiya Hartman says it best as she recounts her sojourner to Ghana, “Old and new worlds stamped my face, a blend of peoples and nations and masters and slaves long forgotten…[but] A black face didn’t make me kin.” A golden thread connects people of the African diaspora, we have flourished independently and our cultures have been nurtured by the various influences, environment and desires of that distinct diasporic group. The complex interplays of skin color, nationality and class all emerge through the black American’s experience in countries with a black presence. It is up to you as a global trekker to open your critical lens and be aware of the possible impacts your skin color and nationality has on your experience. To the black traveler: don’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, but understand blackness is not necessarily transferable.

Travel Noire

Tayler Ulmer

Tayler is a black girl without borders. As a natural, black, Christian, female, broke, sociology-studying student, the compilation of all of these aspects of her identity have made for some pretty interesting adventures. From making sand castles on a private island to dancing to kwaito music at a shabeen in a Langa township, traveling has enabled her to explore new depths of global understanding. As a student at Spelman College, she is on a fixed budget, but has made her dreams of traveling the world a reality.

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