B.O.A.T - Brownest of All Time

Chapter 1

"Her ears seem to be brownish. Looks like she will grow up to be a dark girl" I hear a voice say to my cousin Aliza as I keep scrolling through Instagram. There you go. Here I am stuck at a stupid baby naming ceremony with my mom, sister and some random aunties and someone decides to touch the topic I detest the most tonight.

I hate it when someone discusses about skin tones in front of me because I am a dark-skinned girl with a lot of insecurities and low self-esteem attached to my complexion. Every time this topic comes up I get this uneasy tingly feeling in my stomach like all eyes are on me and they're talking specifically about me or like they would start talking about how dark I am any moment.

I know this sounds crazy because who cares about a person's color right? How does it even matter whether someone is fair or dark? I mean we are in the 21st century and things are so advanced and this is such a petty issue to worry about. Now if you're someone who thinks like this, it is either because you have never had any bad experiences because of your skin color or you're someone who likes to live in that bubble thinking that such issues don't exist in the society anymore or maybe you just choose to ignore it because at the end of the day there's hardly anything that could be done to change people's mindsets on this.

I try my best too. I try to ignore, I try to believe the world is a nicer place that doesn't give importance to such petty things but sadly it does, especially in brown families like mine. And sometimes no matter how positive you try to be there's this sudden wave of sadness that hits you and then you break all over again.

As these thoughts run in my mind and my uneasy feeling keeps growing, I hear a familiar voice agreeing to what the previous voice said, "Oh yes, looks like a dark child". And that's none other than my mom. Ugh! Why would she say it? I mean being my mother — being the mother of the girl with the darkest skin in the room right now, doesn't she realize how nasty it is to comment about the baby's complexion like that? Does she not know that I might get hurt more than anyone else at this point? I guess she doesn't.

My sister Salima and I, we have a hard time communicating with our mother about our feelings. It's like a trait we inherited from her because she's bad at it too. So even though she has seen me crying over this a few times maybe she doesn't really understand the depth of it. I mean I don't expect her to. Because she is fair and so is my sister. So it's just me, the odd one out in the family and who do I blame for this? — my dad and God!

My dad is dark-skinned. That's where I've got it from. A lot of people say I look like dad and that Salima looks like mom. Maybe it's the complexion or maybe it's the features I don't know. Dad is at least considered to be good-looking by many but me — I'm not even close to being called beautiful.

Brown families have two parameters to call a woman beautiful — fair and thin — and I don't belong to either. While my skin tone contributes majorly to my insecurities, my body does its part too. My body size is such that I'm neither chubby nor thin but I sure can be compared to a pillow because of my uneven belly growth. Talk about my unhealthy eating habits! It's so hard to control your food intake when that's the only thing that makes you genuinely happy.

So yeah the only ones who call me beautiful are my family members and that's because they're family and what else are they supposed to say anyway?

I look up.  Aliza's face doesn't look very good. She fakes a smile but I can clearly see that she is not very happy with the current discussion about her baby. Should I feel sorry for her or should I just ignore it?

Aliza and I are of the same age but we are complete opposites in how we look. She's fair and petite. In fact growing up it was a pain seeing how pretty she was while I looked like nothing but a rag doll. So I've always been very jealous of her looks. I like her though. She's cool.

Aliza too just like my mom got married to a dark-skinned guy. That's another thing about brown families. Men can look anything they want. But they always make sure they pick Snow Whites as their wives and it's totally accepted by the society. How unfair! And when this happens God makes His wonderful plans of bringing negative creatures like me into this world. Not cool God not cool!

Oh crap! So maybe like these aunties predict this new kid might turn out to be like...wait what? No! She might become another me! That's bad. This society will do to her what they did to me. She will be broken just like I am. Oh my little one. I'm so sorry. I so wish I could speak up right now and become that little girl's hero. I wish I could ask everyone to shut up and leave the 7-day old baby alone along with her mom who looks like all sorts of postpartum blues just hit her. But I can't. Not when I have my own problems in my head. I can't fake it. So I keep quiet and try to turn a blind eye to this and go back to my phone but the aunties in the room won't let me do it.

I hear some aunty following mom's statement with "oh I hope not" while another starting to give Aliza her series of suggestions on applying turmeric to olive oil to every myth that ever exists to whiten the baby's skin. Man I can't do this anymore. It's getting worse by the minute. This is why I hate attending brown family functions. Complexion and size are just like everyone's favorite conversation starter topics. I should've never come! I must've just stayed at home and watched Netflix!

I try my best to play deaf but no I can't. That child needs me. I already feel some connection to that child because of all these aunties. Maybe as that child grows up I'll be her role model. Maybe she will speak to me openly about her insecurities than with her mother because I will understand her. I have to do this for her.

So as the aunties chatter I barge in and ask Aliza whether she wants me to click any pictures of the baby. Aliza too who was waiting to get a break from this quickly agrees and makes way for me to go close to the baby's crib. As I look at the little one my heart sinks. She looks so cute and all what they could talk about was her complexion. Even though I'm not a baby person I get this growing feeling of a close bond with this little cupcake. Maybe this is it. Maybe this baby is the one that will finally make me forget all my insecurities and maybe we will change this world together. My optimistic imagination keeps building up when an aunty's words interrupt, "Ilhaam has become fat" with a gasp like she just witnessed an earthquake.

Oops what have I done? Trying to save Aliza and the baby I just put myself in the spotlight and the aunties are gonna throw all their rude comments at me just like the fat-shaming one. I don't wanna say anything. I mean what am I even supposed to say when someone who hardly knows me says I've become fat? I just smile and keep clicking pictures of the kiddo when I hear another aunty whispering to my mom "How old is Ilhaam now?"

My mom says "She's 25" and the aunty doesn't stop. She continues to dig deep into my marital status, "Oh! She's getting old. Aren't you looking for a groom for her?". Even though they think they are whispering I can hear it all so well because aunties you see, they speak so loud. "We are. Nothing proper has come up yet. Let me know if you know someone" replies my mom and before the aunty could gossip more Aliza's mother walks in and informs everyone the food is ready.

I finally breathe as everyone walks out and the room gets cleared. But I know the topic won't end here. Now while having dinner the aunties would pester my mom about finding a husband for me. Ugh! Brown aunties dream only about young girls getting married and making babies. There's no more to life than that. If only someone could change their minds!

As I keep cursing the aunties under my breath my phone vibrates. Ah must be just another notification from a company page that I handle social media marketing for or must be from a stupid WhatsApp group I'm part of. It's never an interesting message in Ihaam's life you see. I mean in a way I've chosen the boring life. My phone is dry out of choice partly, but it is also because no guy I like ever shows an interest on me. And I don't want to talk to random guys who I'm not interested in. I don't believe in useless chats like that.

But this time it doesn't look so bad, I mean not bad at all. I unlock my phone to see his name. Omg! He just replied to my IG story.

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