Shundo David Haye

This feels a little awkward to be writing, but nevertheless I want to give it a try.

Almost twenty years ago, I took a holiday in Zanzibar. In Stone Town, I spent some time with a local guy, Hafidh, who pitched himself as a guide. I didn’t really want a guide, but he was pretty laid back, so we did a few things together, hampered though we were by limited common language. One evening we went to a football match at the local stadium; I think it was part of a regional tournament. What I remember most distinctly is that in the excited and joyful crowd of maybe ten thousand, I saw only perhaps a dozen white faces. I had a sudden strong sense of African skin as the original and natural colour of humankind, and that I, and those who looked like me, had had the colour drained out of us by some process of loss.

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