by Olivia Konotey-Ahulu, FRANCE

When I first moved to France, it seemed as though every week I would be asked whether I was ‘métisse’, or mixed race. Inevitably, this prompted an identity crisis over whether people thought I was actually white-passing, but fortunately baby-sitting two young French children quickly put an end to that line of questioning. At least once a week, the fact that the nanny was ‘noir’ seemed to come from nowhere; once, when the four-year old was listing colours, she added, ‘noir, comme toi’, as though she knew I needed to know. It made me aware that, even in Paris, it’s possible to live in a racial and cultural bubble. But, bizarrely, it was nice to be reminded of my colour.

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