Day 7 (20.07.17) Thursday

In the morning, after we boarded the train, no one got up for Peace (Nimmy’s nanny) even though she was carrying Nimmy and holding on to a pole to stabilize herself. In fact, one lady saw us and covered her face with a newspaper.

After three more stops some seats became vacant and we all sat down. It’s not always like that. There are some sections of trains and buses that priority is supposed to be given to women with children, pregnant women and senior citizens. There are also times that people stand up for you once you are with a kid even if you are not around the priority areas. Yes! But that day, no one stood up.

I watched as people kept their distance from us, like they had been told that black people had their colour because they don’t take baths for days and months. I asked a few questions… to no one in particular or maybe to God: why was I born a black person ? Why do some whites hate the black skin so much?

Then I thought to myself, it’s not me they don’t like because they don’t know me. It’s the colour of my skin. There is nothing I can do about that; God decided to make me come as a black girl. I looked at their soft hair and thought about how hard it was for me to maintain my hair. All they had to do was keep it clean, washed and moisturized. (Well I know some still go overboard with their hair) They could pack it all their life. Then again black skin is firmer than white skin. Once white skin starts to age, it loses all form of elasticity. Phew! Who am I to question God? Have mercy on me o Lord!

After Nimmy’s therapy session at Peto we went to the fruit market at the end of tram number four in Pest area; an indoor fruit market. The sellers had their fruits on tables. We went around looking at all their items before settling to buy from a particular vendor. I noticed that some vendors sold tomatoes at 499 forint and others sold tomatoes at 389 forints. Since the vendor I was buying from could speak a little English, I thought I could ask him the reason some tomatoes were more expensive than the other even though they looked alike. I soon realized that his level of English could not permit him to speak further. Then he explained to other stall owners around him what we asked for. One of the buyers in front of another stall came to us to explain in Hungarian language the reason for the price difference. I smiled…like I was going to understand that by magic? Then they continued speaking in their language and laughed at us. I turned to my hubby and said in Yoruba language ‘this foolish people are laughing at us. It’s not their fault. Do they think they are the only ones that have a particular language? We also laughed at them. I bought fruits from him. Even though when I got home I discovered that some of the fruits were bad. Silly man; he told me I should point to what I want and he would pick them for me. I guess he didn’t want black hands touching his rotten fruits.

One good thing about our fruit shopping was the fact that we bought a different watermelon (from another vendor) which was yellow on the inside instead of red. It was indeed the most delicious watermelon I had ever eaten.

30 days in Hungary Day 7 (20.07.17) Thursday In the morning, after we boarded the train, no one got up for Peace (Nimmy’s nanny) even though she was carrying Nimmy and holding on to a pole to stabilize herself. In fact, one lady saw us and covered her face with a newspaper.After three more stops some seats became vacant and we all sat down. It’s not always like that. There are some sections of trains and buses that priority is supposed to be given to women with children, pregnant women and senior citizens. There are also times that people stand up for you once you are with a kid even if you are not around the priority areas. Yes! But that day, no one stood up.I watched as people kept their distance from us, like they had been told that black people had their colour because they don't take baths for days and months. I asked a few questions… to no one in particular or maybe to God: why was I born a black person ? Why do some whites hate the black skin so much?Then I thought to myself, it’s not me they don’t like because they don’t know me. It’s the colour of my skin. There is nothing I can do about that; God decided to make me come as a black girl. I looked at their soft hair and thought about how hard it was for me to maintain my hair. All they had to do was keep it clean, washed and moisturized. (Well I know some still go overboard with their hair) They could pack it all their life. Then again black skin is firmer than white skin. Once white skin starts to age, it loses all form of elasticity. Phew! Who am I to question God? Have mercy on me o Lord!After Nimmy’s therapy session at Peto we went to the fruit market at the end of tram number four in Pest area; an indoor fruit market. The sellers had their fruits on tables. We went around looking at all their items before settling to buy from a particular vendor. I noticed that some vendors sold tomatoes at 499 forint and others sold tomatoes at 389 forints. Since the vendor I was buying from could speak a little English, I thought I could ask him the reason some tomatoes were more expensive than the other even though they looked alike. I soon realized that his level of English could not permit him to speak further. Then he explained to other stall owners around him what we asked for. One of the buyers in front of another stall came to us to explain in Hungarian language the reason for the price difference. I smiled…like I was going to understand that by magic? Then they continued speaking in their language and laughed at us. I turned to my hubby and said in Yoruba language ‘this foolish people are laughing at us. It’s not their fault. Do they think they are the only ones that have a particular language? We also laughed at them. I bought fruits from him. Even though when I got home I discovered that some of the fruits were bad. Silly man; he told me I should point to what I want and he would pick them for me. I guess he didn’t want black hands touching his rotten fruits.One good thing about our fruit shopping was the fact that we bought a different watermelon (from another vendor) which was yellow on the inside instead of red. It was indeed the most delicious watermelon I had ever eaten.

Gepostet von Diary of a Special Needs Mum Initiative am Mittwoch, 26. Juli 2017

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