Figuring out my Identity in the Places and Spaces of the Apartheid

Although perhaps too young to understand the implications and impact of the Apartheid, and although my experiences pale in comparison to those of the black South African youths during my time there, my own identity has been undoubtedly affected by the space and place, and the power relations intrinsically woven into it, of Transkei, South Africa - The place I called home for six years.

Transkei (Now Butterworth) today

Despite moving to Transkei at the tale end of the Apartheid (Transkei had been granted “independence” the year before), I lived a dual life.  My home-life was surrounded by mostly black friends, neighbors, and playmates as my parents worked and resided in one of the only black colleges in the area.  Because my dad looked “Chinese”, and all Chinese men were assumed to be wealthy businessmen, I was able to go to a prestigious elementary school, which of course, was predominantly white.  This was complicated more by the mere fact that my family was considered “expatriates”, and thus, whether we liked it or not, we were treated differently.  In things that really mattered, it was “us” versus “them”. 

I did not have the understanding or language to go along with my experiences back then, but our discussions in Social Geographies on space and place, and the rules that make up these spaces and places, have brought me back to those six years in Transkei. 

Me in my school uniform

As a Filipina expatriate kid with one foot in the black college my parents worked at, and another at the white school I attended, there were unspoken rules that I quickly learnt to follow.  At school, I unconsciously made myself mold into the shy, book-smart Asian role, minding my own business and not daring to stand up for the “dangerous black people” my white classmates would tell me about.  Little did they know that those “dangerous black people” were my neighbors, my friends.  At home, despite the fact that I identified more with my friends in this place, I still spent my energy trying to convince them that even though I went to the “white” school, I was not one of them.  I would swear my loyalty to their side, joining in their pretend toi-toi (protest dances) and never practicing my Afrikaans in the presence of my friends. 

Me and my sister celebrating with friends

These spaces I occupied mandated certain roles and required me to function within a different set of rules.  Conforming to them was exhausting and I wonder if that is one of the reasons I seek change.  I fear being tied down to a set of rules and I feel my only escape is change.  Reflecting on this, and having the insights brought about by Social Geographies, I realize that the space and place of Transkei has impacted my own struggles with identity and belonging.  The unspoken rules, the use of place to control those I loved, and the different roles required of me, made me uncertain of my own place, of my own identity.

I’m still trying to digest everything, but let me end with this:  Fall quarter last year I chose to do one of my research papers on the Apartheid.   I wrote a poem, The Black on My Skin.  Surprisingly, it brought me a sense of peace.  Why? I didn’t know.  However, since learning about the language and the social constructs of space and place, and since recognizing how it has affected my own life, I now wonder if that peace was a result of the space I was given to push back in my own way... Twenty some years later.

The Black on My Skin