My Character-Building Experience of Being Black in China

In Shenzhen, China I stepped off a plane and into the unknown. 1. As I emerged from customs, my dark skin was like a beacon calling out to every curious onlooker, as if it said: "Hey there! Come check me out!" The first thing that struck me wasn't the beauty of this city or its incredible modern architecture; it was how everyone stared at me.2. I'd been warned about people staring – my friends had told me before I left for China to prepare myself, but nothing could have truly prepared me for what it would be like in real life. For instance they said: "Some people will stare more than others" or “some won’t even acknowledge you.” But was this really true? Was there actually a hierarchy of attention based on the skin color of those around us?3. One thing's certain though – I didn't expect to be treated like an exhibit at some sort of museum with dark-skinned human specimens. It wasn't just curiosity, it wasn’t even mere attention; people were genuinely worried that I was some kind of imposter or misfit.4. The stares followed me everywhere I went - even after I passed by my colleagues from work who seemed perfectly content in their white skins – a stark contrast to what I'd experienced so far. 5. Overcoming Cultural ShockI wanted to know if there were other people out there like me, and whether they also felt the same way about being an outsider.6. Did anyone else feel like their skin color would determine how others perceive them in a foreign land? Was it as easy for white folks to navigate these situations too?7. I couldn’t help but wonder if my experience was unique or just part of some larger cultural phenomenon. What other people had been through before, and what did they do with the anxiety that came from being an outsider in a foreign land? Were there any solutions for overcoming this kind of fear - how could one become more confident when faced with unknowns?8. How can I as black person navigate these situations effectively – was it something my friends would have to help me figure out, or am I truly on the right track by doing things alone? As a non-native English speaker myself, navigating this new environment meant that finding support within an unfamiliar culture took some time - there were many obstacles in the way. Yet despite everything, these experiences sparked something in me – the desire to learn more about my own identity and connect with others from all walks of life.9. If I can just help one person navigate their first cultural experience like this, then every step forward is worth it. What other stories would you tell us if they had an opportunity? How did your experiences in foreign places shape who you are today?10. As the spotlight continues to shine on me – not only as a black woman but also with my dark skin that sets me apart from others – I'll keep moving forward, armed with open minds and more empathy than ever before - ready for whatever comes next.At first, I wore it like a fashion accessory. “Oh, you’re from Africa?” a woman asked, eyes wide like she’d just discovered the moon is made of cheese. “No, I’m from the USA,” I’d reply, deadpan, only to be met with a blink and a whispered “Wow, you’re really *black* here.” I laughed, because why not? It was like being a walking Wikipedia entry with better hair. Kids would point and giggle, their parents scrambling to shush them like I was a wild animal they’d accidentally brought into a quiet library. Honestly, I started posing for selfies like I was on a reality show called *The World’s Most Interesting Black Guy*. But then—*boom*—the novelty wore off faster than a cheap sunscreen on a sunny day in Guangzhou. The stares stopped being playful and started feeling like they were measuring my worth by how much “exotic” I seemed. I remember sitting on a park bench, calmly reading a book, when a group of teenagers snuck up, snapped a photo, and whispered, “Look, she’s real!” like I was a myth they’d only heard about in urban legends. That’s when the fun turned sour, like a bubble tea with too much sugar and zero ice. Suddenly, the attention wasn’t admiration—it was surveillance, a silent judgment wrapped in curiosity. And the subway? Oh, the subway was its own emotional rollercoaster. I’d sit, try to read, and feel a ripple of whispers—like a secret club formed just to talk about me. “Why is she so dark?” a kid asked, voice sharp with confusion. “She looks like a chocolate bar,” another one muttered. I wanted to laugh, but my ribs hurt from clenching. One time, I overheard a woman say, “She’s not even a real Chinese person. She’s… different.” Different. As if being Black wasn’t enough. As if I had to *prove* my humanity through a visa, a passport, or a smile. Then came the real kicker: the invisibility. Not the “I’m invisible” kind, but the “I’m seen so much, I’m not seen at all” kind. I’d walk into a restaurant, and the staff would barely acknowledge me—then suddenly, when I opened my mouth, they’d freeze, eyes widening like I’d just spoken in ancient Sumerian. “You speak Chinese?” someone asked once, as if I’d just conjured the language from thin air. I didn’t even know what to say. Was I supposed to be fluent? Should I have a sign around my neck that says “Yes, I’m human, and yes, I can order my own food”? Still, I won’t lie—there’s a strange beauty in being the only Black person in a sea of gray, beige, and brown. It forced me to grow up fast. I learned how to deflect awkward comments with sarcasm, how to walk with my head high like I’m not auditioning for a role in someone else’s story. I started noticing more than just stares—I noticed kindness too. A barista once handed me a free drink with a smile that said, “Yeah, you’re different, but you’re also here, and that matters.” A student once shyly asked if she could touch my hair. I said yes, and we ended up talking about Afrocentric fashion for 20 minutes. That moment? That was gold. Here’s my truth: being Black in China isn’t just about navigating stares or being a tourist attraction—it’s about claiming space, not as an anomaly, but as a person with stories, opinions, and a perfectly good cup of coffee. The world will always want to categorize you—“exotic,” “rare,” “different”—but I’ve learned to say, “I’m just me, and I’m not here to perform.” The attention? It’s not a burden. It’s a challenge. And honestly? I’ve turned it into my superpower. So if you’re a Black person thinking about moving to China—or if you’re just someone who’s ever felt like you’re too much, too loud, too different—know this: your presence isn’t a spectacle. It’s a revolution. You’re not just *in* the story. You’re rewriting it. And hey, if someone asks if you’re from Africa, just smile, say “No, but I’m proud of my roots,” and walk away with your head held high—because you’re not just surviving. You’re thriving. And that? That’s the real magic.


Categories:
Black,  Would,  Person,  People,  Real,  Skin,  Others, 

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