Some pieces i discovered in an old scrapbook by an immigrant woman who lived in spain around the year 2008. These pieces seem very outdated. To think how far we have come, but to think so many things still remain the same...
She entered the Corte Inglés
she felt misplaced
what could she buy?
With her mere
20 euros?
she looked the attendant
in the eye
shy, ashamed,
uncomfortable
she wanted a cream to remove
the blemishes
left on her face
one that wasn´t too expensive,
she quickly added.
she knew it…
it was better to live with the blemishes
these scars
that reminded her
of her
situación como extranjera,
that she was an immigrant.
What does it mean to be discoloured?
I mean- NOT WHITE
It´s having looks of empathy thrown your way
It is those looks of suspicion
that follow your footsteps like
a
haunting
shadow
it
is
that
silence
of the imcomprehensible.
A strangeness
You feel like a
pieza mal situada
stuck
with
room
to manoeuvre
You breathe
but the air seems to be the accomplice
of this white world
you contemplate
suicide
but you feel it´s a white solution
you listen to music
they say it seems to help the brain
you feel brainwashed
you try to wash the brain
now you are empty,
clean
drained
and
all
alone
just where you had started.
She was polka dot
Yes
Her face was spotted black and white
Like all her life.
But only polka dot
Was no longer fashionable.
They were curious about her
A hijabbed woman
Attending
Documentaries detailing the abuses against homosexuals
And denouncing their discrimination.
They wanted to know who she was
Wasn´t it contradictory to be
Visibly Muslim and liberal?
It was like the Opus Dei
claiming they are homosexuals, they told her.
It just did not fit.
Would she force her children to
Wear the hijab?,
they wanted to know.
How come she was so similar to them?
She was already travelling
So she replied calmly,
You know..
Islam has a lot of matices
…too many nuances..
She walked into the exposition
Hidden
She was exposed,
In fact, she was covered
There were photographs of
Culos
from different cultures,
angles and
perspectives
it was an exposition of bottoms
the comisaria came up to her
bemusedandasked
Dime, ¿ te gusta la exposición?
Pues, muy interesante, she replied.
Then she was startled-
¿Te gusta nuestra cultura?
Do you like our culture?
So she said, after some thought,
Me gusta la cultura universal,
Universal culture appeals to me..
She was brown-skinned
Pimply faced
She wore a hijab
She was misunderstood
She wore it half-way
Revealing yet concealing
She was ridiculed
She felt invisible
Unattractive
Like a wall painting one looked at with indifference
Sometimes with scorn or discomfort
for there were spots of dirt, filth
it was discoloured.
She would look at all the white faces looking at her
Each one different
Each one beautiful
So beautiful, she thought
She could admire
Its immaculate impeccable perfection
Without blinking…
The black-brown-yellow skins
were undesirable.
they were tarnished
with poverty and suffering
Eyes not blue nor green
But black, that had seen too much
Couldn’t
Stop
If only she could mask her identity
Uncover her true personality
But what would that be?
Just an imitation
Of
Westernity?
She was Bin Laden
She was a whore
She was rebel
She was oppressed
She was liberated.
She was supposed to be better that the rest.
She was a terrorist
A mora
Marroquí
She was a nadie
She was an actress.
She was desirable
And invisible
She was confused…
But who was she?
She was swimming in white
but she realised she couldn´t swim
so she started to sink
when her body
floated to the surface
it was black.
She was Black
Woman
Muslim
the crying Palestian mother
clutching the cold body
of her dead.
she was covered in the burqa
thanking the Americans for freedom
she was Moroccan immigrant
couldn´t read
didn´t know Spanish.
She was the Indian
from Mere
she was the Somalian
who had suffered
mutilation
she was the terrorist
who despised the West
she was the victim and verdugo
of September 2001
march 2004
april 2002
víctima y verdugo
Víctima y verdugo
Víctima y verdugo
She was Black
Muslim
Woman.
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