I Learned to Love my Black Diaspora in Dubai

by Gabby Beckford (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find United Arab Emirates

As a multiracial person living on the East Coast of the USA, my ethnicity has always been a topic of discussion. Dominican, Puerto Rican, Trinidadian, Brazilian—I have been assumed as them all. I take no offense to it as curiosity is natural, though it has had interesting effects on my identity. Rarely do I see myself as "Jamaican-American", as I am almost impossible to be seen as such. But, I am always "Black". That much is sure. In 2016 I was awarded a national scholarship to study Middle Eastern culture and Arabic in Dubai, UAE. There were destinations available on across the continents but I specifically chose the Middle East because it was a region I knew very little about, yet somehow called to me. Newly 21-years-old I packed three duffles I could barely carry, discarded my apprehensions in the trash along with my liquids at the airport, and flew to the City of Gold. Almost immediately, I became aware of the diversity of the city. There was no majority population. Irish, Filipino, Habesha, Desi, Nigerian, Brazilian, Emirati, Saudi, all intermingled as one. "Where are you from?" is a very common question in Dubai in which the direct translation is "What is your ethnicity?" It helps establish identity and cultural expectations—which makes me bound for a few interesting experiences. One day I was taking a taxi ride and began chatting with my driver, who I learned was Moroccan. While paying him he saw me and said, “You know, you could be Moroccan” I was surprised. Really? "Oh yes", he replied, "You look just like my sister!". Another time I was on safari into the desert with an Egyptian guide. He greeted our group and asked where we were from. When I said the USA (“no, where are you REALLY from?” “…Ok, I’m Jamaican”) he gasped. “Wallahi?”, he said. “I swore you were Egyptian!” And then, I once went out to eat with my Habesha university friends. We took a group photo and as all gathered to look at it one of them commented “You know, you could definitely be Habesha, Gabby” In the melting pot that is Dubai, this happened almost daily. 7,000 miles from home, strangers were seeing a reflection of themselves in me. My skin, the way I laughed, my brown eyes. And the strangest thing was that I soon began to see pieces of myself in them, as well—in their cultures, their values, and even in my friends' hair care routines. I then experienced something that would shock me to my core. In my Middle Eastern history studies, I had a class called Modern Middle East. The topic of the day was the Atlantic slave trade and it's lesser-known facts. With father being from Jamaica and likely descended from slaves, my ears perked up. And then the professor said it. 30% of the African slaves in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade were originally Muslim before their identities and cultures were erased. In the middle of the lesson I gasped. My eyes welled up. My throat tightened. Because my father, named after multiple generations of Jamaicans... is named Hassan. An Arabic name. Son of Ali, and grandson of the Prophet Muhammed himself (PBUH). I believe what has been calling me to the Middle East was the identity I sought so much, and the truth that there is no absolute truth. I am multiracial, I am American, I am Jamaican, and I am likely things that I will never quite know. The implications of the Black Diaspora are complex but I have to marvel at how far we’ve come in so many ways. In so many shades. Dubai taught me that no matter where I go on this earth I can always find home.