Young. Broke. Black.

by Tahnayee Clendinen (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

The whole plane jerks forward and the resounding pop in my ears alerts me that we have landed. As a military brat, the feeling of flying was familiar but this time was new. Unfamiliar. Nerve wracking. Flying for pleasure? What is this….. “pleasure” you speak of, some sort of sauce? Travel for pleasure had always seemed like a distant relative that I had heard about but never really got to know. A handful of times, a pilgrimage was made to visit relatives in the Caribbean but mostly, flying was something that you did when your dad got orders from the government. No smiles, no fun, just business. Not this time. This time was kin to reuniting with an old friend with which an old conflict had been resolved and things progressed magnificently. As I chatted mindlessly with the Uber driver about all the things to do on my first visit to California my heart sung. For the first time my curiosity had driven me to purchase a ticket on a whim and thus began my journey to see all 50 states. Every time I was ready to embark on a new excursion, I was confronted with three facts: I am young, broke, and black. For my counterparts those things never really posed an issue for them. Firstly, I am the youngest in my friend group. By a lot. This meant toasting with mocktails and feigning a buzz. It meant endless google searches to figure out if that new restaurant downtown was 21+ or 18+. “Hey are you lost little girl?” is the last thing you want to hear from a rough looking gentleman when you’re trying out your best tough face navigating the BART through Oakland, California. Looking younger can attract lots of unsolicited attention from men that are undoubtedly a part of some secret society sending out “how to hit on females: creepy 101” weekly newsletters. The second thing that I must remain aware of is that though I dream of Moet, I’m usually sipping Blue Moon. This means that a good portion of the trips I take require months of saving and planning. I was eventually saved by the realization that the view of the Chicago skyline is just as beautiful from my cousin’s stoop as it is from The Blackstone. The beaches in Hawaii remain crystal clear whether I rinse the salt from my body at the Hilton or in the crowded bathroom of a friend of a friend. Money seemed to linger over me with the illumination of a thousand city lights whenever I wanted to go on an adventure. The recognition that most sights are just as gorgeous no matter my financial situation relieved the pressure that seemed to swallow me before a trip. By now I’m sure you know, I am black. For most people trips can be as simple as booking a ticket and lodging. That is a luxury my bones crave. My blackness became apparent as (while beautiful) , a dark and stormy cloud over my wanderlust. When my white counterparts once came up with the brilliant idea of couch surfing through Texas to see the State Fair, pardon my french, but I noped the fuck outta that one! Traveling while black forces me to consider things like: “What if the hosts of said couch are prejudiced?” , “who will drive the rental car because I’ll be sure to get stopped.” This is not limited to southern travel, stories of mishaps due to prejudice are common. Traveling while black also brings forth the most basic of issues. I’m looking at you, hotel shampoo. Though I have jumped full force into the uncharted territory for me that is travel for pleasure, the reward has vastly trumped the cost. Being young, broke, and black always seemed to be a deterrent, causing problems for me that I thought were sure signs that I ought to stay in my lane. The natural high of conquering the unknown keeps me going (well, that and the fact that some trips are non-refundable). I hope to collect an extensive amount of experiences and inspire other young, broke black folks to get out and see that travel is for us too.