Black Woman, White Skin
By Casey Parks
Kenosha Robinson
Photo Credit: Taghi Naderzad
It was then that I started reclaiming my identity through weave-a traditional African hairstyle. I change it once a week, creating a new identity with each look. It gives me satisfaction to know that while I cannot alter my skin color, my hair is mine to play with.
My self-esteem is a work in progress. Sometimes, I'll be talking with a black friend, then look down at my skin and feel totally exposed, like, "I'm white and everyone can see it." But I'm becoming stronger and learning it's OK to just be Nosha, all 150 pounds of smile and laughter that I am. Still, seeing girls with beautiful caramel or chocolate skin sparks envy in me.
The last boyfriend I had made me feel special-in a good way-about my albinism. The uniqueness drove him crazy, and that gave me a lot of confidence. The man I marry will have to be intrigued, too. I probably want to marry a black man-even though I know it will be strange to have children who are a different color than I am-and I'd want him to be tested for the gene. Although I'm happy with who I am today, I wouldn't wish what I've gone through on anyone.
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