Was it racism or I was just overthinking?

The online world is a whole different realm where you can be whoever you want to be. That’s where I met my friend, who I’ll call “the one.” 

When I got the email congratulating me on being accepted for an exchange program, I was thrilled but also scared. I was excited for the new adventure but nervous about the unknown. I was leaving behind a place I had called home for years, a culture I knew inside out, and a familiar way of living, heading into a land I had only seen in movies, with a language I was just starting to learn. 

Sharing this news with those close to me made me realize that telling people I was going abroad made them see me as the lucky one. Everyone imagined how excited I must be, how life would be all rosy once I landed, and how I’d have the finest things life has to offer. Most of that is true, but even without trying, things are already way better when you move to a more developed country.  

Yet, it became hard for me to convey my fears to my friends. It didn’t make sense to tell them I was scared of how the trip would turn out, where I’d live, the people I’d meet, and the food I’d eat. So, I searched for those in the same boat as me online, trying to find familiarity in a strange place. 

I had to put on a brave face for my Kenyan friends, looking excited while showing my worried, confused face online as I searched for people who could help me navigate my soon-to-be home city. 

That’s how I bumped into “the one.” She was kind, comforting, and helpful with all my questions. She always had alternatives and made me hopeful that my stay, at least for the first few days, would be okay since I had someone to ask, like where to find the nearest street food joint. 

We talked several times, and she even offered to pick me up when I arrived. On the bus, I connected to weak free Wi-Fi just to keep in touch and even took a photo of the bus to send her. I gave her updates on how far I was and how soon I would arrive. 

Let me tell you Maina, when I stepped off the bus, feeling the last few days of summer heat, I bumped right into her. I smiled to show her I was the one because she had already sent me her photo. We looked at each other, and she stepped back, gave me that fake plastic smile almost everyone in France has, and walked away. 

Everything happened so fast I couldn’t register it. Trying to gather my luggage, see where she went, and absorb the newness of the town, it felt hard to believe I had just been ghosted face to face. 

It was then that I realized how I stood out with my distinctive black skin, quite recognizable in an old town that is predominantly white. 

Maybe it wasn’t racism, but it sure felt like it at that moment. Because she ghosted me right there, Maina, and I never heard from her again.