He interrupted my me-time the only time of the day i get to sit down, smell the fresh the fresh air and have a coffee without worrying that in the next minute i am going to hear that call "maman" and leave whatever it is i am doing to rush to my son's beckoning. Yes he interrupted me not to be kind or say hello but to insul me. He interrupted me during that one moment when i did not have paperwork to think about and was pretending to be that carefree single woman having a coffee in a street side cafe to ask me if i was in France because i was so poor back in my country and i wanted papers! Yes he had the sick sense to do just that.
And no he is not the first one and i bet he will not be the last. I have had it all, weird questions, that start from whether i had a French child to get me a French Visa and whether i am looking for a French man to get me papers to stay in France.
The thing is simple, i am a black foreign female or as i would say in FrenchUune Femme Noire Etrangere smack right in the middle of a small town in south western France who seems to have nothing going for her, probably, yes most probably poor and uneducated! The perils of being who i am i could say.
How can i ever forget that i am a foreign woman of colour living in the South Western part of France. to be precise, in the Midi-Pyrenees. It follows me everywhere i go, i am reminded of it by the looks the strange questions and the stares and strangely its become part of my daily life!
Seriously it ain't much fun being la femme noire etrangere in this part of the world. I have had it all and more. The not so young man who interrupted my coffee with his insults was not much of something if you ask me and living in France, i have learnt to be mean. So i gave him as piece of my mind after asking him what he did for a living and he replied "je suis au chomage mais j'etais jardiner" I am officially jobless but i was a gardener, i asked him to pick up his silly self and leave my table. In fact the old me, the old journalist succesful me who achieved more in ten years as a journalist than that insulting French gardener ever will all his life would never have given his sorry butt the chnace to even share a table with me.
No i am not mean but yes i can be when i am insulted and so that is the new me, meaner and leaner and yes still black foreign and female. BFF!
And no he is not the first one and i bet he will not be the last. I have had it all, weird questions, that start from whether i had a French child to get me a French Visa and whether i am looking for a French man to get me papers to stay in France.
The thing is simple, i am a black foreign female or as i would say in FrenchUune Femme Noire Etrangere smack right in the middle of a small town in south western France who seems to have nothing going for her, probably, yes most probably poor and uneducated! The perils of being who i am i could say.
How can i ever forget that i am a foreign woman of colour living in the South Western part of France. to be precise, in the Midi-Pyrenees. It follows me everywhere i go, i am reminded of it by the looks the strange questions and the stares and strangely its become part of my daily life!
Seriously it ain't much fun being la femme noire etrangere in this part of the world. I have had it all and more. The not so young man who interrupted my coffee with his insults was not much of something if you ask me and living in France, i have learnt to be mean. So i gave him as piece of my mind after asking him what he did for a living and he replied "je suis au chomage mais j'etais jardiner" I am officially jobless but i was a gardener, i asked him to pick up his silly self and leave my table. In fact the old me, the old journalist succesful me who achieved more in ten years as a journalist than that insulting French gardener ever will all his life would never have given his sorry butt the chnace to even share a table with me.
No i am not mean but yes i can be when i am insulted and so that is the new me, meaner and leaner and yes still black foreign and female. BFF!
