An Uber Ride Made Me Realise My Privilege As A Brown Female Abroad
‘Are you from India?”, she asked once I settled in the car.
No, I replied for the 25,000th time. From Mauritius.
‘Maurisu? In Assia?, she said in her thick accent.
I am from Africa, I am African, I said.
You? She looks perplexed. But the colour of your skin same as mine, pointing at her cheeks.
I smiled. It must be dark in the car, She is Iranian and I know her, well kind of.
I changed the topic. And you are from Iran, I said, more of a statement than a question.
How do you know? She asks. Because this is the third time I have been in your Uber and had the same conversation.
We laugh. Do you like it here? She continues.
I do, I love it. But am once again feeling the need to escape.
Then she half-replies; Me, I can’t go back to my country. My country not good for women.
I am aware, I said. But somehow it got me out of my funk. Life is good even when it’s bad.
I wear the tiniest of shorts, come back, change, make plans, and go out for long…
