Why does the colour of my skin make you afraid?

Thoughts on Black Life by Cleo Lima

My name is Cleo. I was born on a small island just off mainland Africa called São Tomé & Príncipe. I was raised to feel proud of who I am and where I come from, and I feel that way. I had a sense of community and good people around me. As a 5-year-old kid, I was known for sticking up for the young and helpless in my neighbourhood. If you ask my mum, she’d tell you endless stories about it.

I grew up in a happy home. My father would explain certain events in the news to me. He’d tell me about how the outside world perceived Africans. The stories about us differed across European, American, and South African news channels.

I was 9 when we moved to Portugal. I went to school, I went to church, I became a semi-professional athlete for the 100 meters. I loved to run.

At age 10, I’d see a white man hang around the park. He’d prey on young black girls, offer them, sweets, take them to a corner. I’d see other white people nearby - they looked but never intervened. Years later, I think about what happened to those girls. I think about how they carry their scars.

I have endless stories about me and my niece growing up. We were the only black kids in our school. We were bullied and abused. The adults who were meant to protect us turned a blind eye. It affected us so much and still does. After school was no different. While running simple errands for my parents, I was followed around grocery stores like a thief. While my mum worked a 19-hour shift to pay bills, I cooked and cleaned. My mum worked so hard.

At age 19, I worked for a very well-known international brand. Me and others like me would be told how we were such hard workers while we watched our white colleagues being promoted, year after year. Our performance was the same. Our treatment was not.

I was 29 years old when we moved to the UK. I saw a difference here. All races and ethnicities would be working across industry - in banks, schools, law enforcement, journalism, politics, etc. I saw representation for so many young black kids like myself. It was as if I had travelled to a different galaxy. 

Like many immigrants, I started working as soon as possible so I could pay my bills. In between, I went back to school to study English. At age 30, I started working for an agency. I soon discovered I was paid less than my white colleagues. The message from the head of the agency was clear: if I wanted to carry on working, I had to keep my mouth shut.

Some years later, I signed a contract with a very well-known brand where I worked my way up. It wasn't an easy journey. I faced internal prejudice, office politics, and dealing with people more willing to protect their own interests than stand up for what was right. While working for this brand in a famous department store in Central London, two events marked me:

1. A brown colleague was forced by store managers to apologise to an abusive VIP client. The client wanted to spit on my colleague. She refused to engage. The client got angry. To resolve the situation, the store managers gave the client a £100.00 gift card.

2. An impatient client came to the store during rush hour. She was shouting abuse from the queue and nobody intervened. Eventually, when I stepped in, her abuse targeted my race. The client threatened to take it to social media as a bad service. In order to prevent this, the store offered her free products worth £ 30.00.

I know that the customer is always right. But these customers were racists.

I continued to work hard and became a manager and then a multi-site manager. I wanted to lead better than I had been led - I was firm but fair. I wanted my staff to understand what we wanted to achieve as a group. I hired people from different backgrounds and ethnicities, trained them in my own free time, and created a strong team.

Everyone has potential if they are given the opportunity.

I would reason with clients and try to deescalate situations. I would also make staff understand their point of view. Even though I had praises from different departments that I built bridges with, eventually I found out that my hard work was not reflected in my wages. I was paid less than colleagues in the same position as me. When I challenged this – there were excuses every time.

Each one of us lives with wounds from our past and we try to keep going, healing them day by day. But when those wounds are from the abuse and injustice you suffer because of the colour of your skin, the wounds never heal, they just turn into ugly scars that you struggle to hide.  

I have been oppressed and mistreated. I have felt helpless and misunderstood. I have been silenced. I have internalised pain. And dare I speak up, I will be labelled an angry black woman.

Last year a friend was curious to know more about my upbringing and perspectives. So, I shared some of my experiences growing up as a black woman. She cried and said she felt so overwhelmed because she’d never had to worry about many of the things that were second nature to me. I told her some people had it even worse than me. Just ask a black man.

Now I work for a company where everyone has a voice. Thank God I work for a company that wants me to be my best and hear my voice. My life has been one of movement and adjustment. At times it has felt like perpetual fragility. But now I am in a place of growth and success. Now I work for a company that wants to make a difference in our community.

Have you asked yourself what you stand for? And what you are teaching the next generation? What kind of world do you want for your kids?

I'm Cleo. A daughter, a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend, and a professional. But most importantly, I am your equal and I want to be acknowledged as such.