That’s what a black woman said about another black girl.
It happened so fast — I didn’t have enough time to duck for cover. One minute we were talking about her niece and the next — her friend who popped up on the screen.
I immediately observed how gorgeous she was.
But not in spite of being a black girl with no mixture of superior tainting. She was simply lovely in her simplicity and delivery.
My friend concurred but attached the damaging disclaimer that is necessary to note.
Despite lacking the biracial features that automatically catapults your status from regular to extraordinary — this girl managed to defy the odds with her undeniable beauty.
What also hit me was the fact that she discarded the realization that I am also a regular black girl.
I’m the worst kind actually.
I’m West African. North Africans have delicate features and wavy hair that glistens like the generous back of a sheep. Most believe they are the better Africans because their physical attributes aptly translate in the Western world.
I have never battled the disease of being the black girl that can’t compete in a vast landscape that regulates me as inferior.
I look in the mirror and enjoy my reflection. My mother and grandmothers instilled a level of defiance that continues to shield me from the blinding rays of ignorance.
But when faced with the stark comments that flow from women of color who proudly and loudly proclaim the discovery of natural hair with all its surmountable wit — one can’t help but be haplessly stumped.
How can we be progressive when it comes to reclaiming our roots to the point of turning our new habit into money-making endeavors — and still denounce the essence of what sets us apart from the rest.
We can’t stop subscribing to the notion that black girls can’t be pretty without the blessing of outside forces that are meant to enhance skin tone, hair texture and the features that would otherwise exude our barbaric nature.
Mixed girls are beautiful. They represent the end result of a coupling that was successful in breeding the perfect specimen — that black girls who are regular — can’t measure up to.
That’s why on that rare occasion — when an ordinary black girl with no hint of Caucasian, American Indian, Creole, or Asian — goes against the laws of nature by blossoming into an undeniable beauty — it’s a bloody mystery!
How the hell did she pull that off?
I did it with the privilege of my ancestors and the assurance of my destiny minus the ignorance and hatred that unfortunately most of us can’t shit away.
I’ll do it for you. You’re too full of shit to see the truth in our eyes but my vision will part the darkness on your behalf.