I am a migrant

I am a migrant. I work with migrants. 

I flew to Cyprus from Spain; but I am not that kind of migrant. 

I am a black migrant and I work with black migrants (with Syrians, Palestine’s, Pakistanis migrants)

I was born in a small African country known by few. Cabo Verde is the name.

I had the privilege (not the luck) of having a mum that flew to Spain to provide me with good education. The promise of a better future. 

Privilege. Let’s talk about it. 

The world is ruled in such a way that your whole life depends on whether you are born in the north of the world or in the south. The south bleeds while the north stabs. 

I was a black girl growing in a country made and ruled by white men. Should I say more? 

I grew. I received an education paid by the sweat of my mother’s armpits. A strong African single mother. 

I faced racism in school.  I faced racism in the streets. I faced racism taking the train. I faced institutional racism. 

I spend 18 years of my life living in Spain and still, I cannot call myself Spanish in front of some people. It is not about having a passport or not. It is about the color of my skin. 

I am a black migrant woman in Spain. 

So, how is this related to the voluntary service I am doing in Cyprus? 

How are the facts that I came as a Spanish resident, with the Spanish language, with the Spanish culture that has been running through me since I am 8 years old, the culture I feel proud of, relate to my current experience?

I am a migrant working with migrants.

I started to rediscover Africa – my Africa – in the eyes of the minors. 

I started to feel saudade for my land, which the only time I get to visit is when I am on vacation. The one I left at 8 years old. 

I find the similarities between the minors and my brother, my cousins…

I look at them and I see my privilege. 

I get to know their journey and the memory hits me: I am an 8 year old kid, staying in Dakar (Senegal) for 7 months with a family I did not know, but I had to stay with until I was to get the approval of the authorities to go to Spain to my mum. 

I hear them missing their families, and I realize that the only family I had around me is my mum and my brother. The rest of my big family remains almost strangers to me. 

Still, I know about my privilege. 

I am a black migrant woman and I can see my privilege when I compare myself to the asylum seekers I work with. 

And you…who are you and what are your privileges?