AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her sharp laugh feels like broken glass piercing my skin. ‘You cannot be making this about you right now.’
I close my eyes briefly, shaking my head. ‘I wasn’t trying to. I just meant … if I made you feel uncomfortable, and that’s why you’re thinking of leaving, please don’t.’
Gibitah pauses, then fully turns to face me. Her eyes are blazing, her mouth set in a firm line. ‘Do you know what my dream is, Farah?’
‘No,’ I reply uneasily. ‘What is it?’
‘To be on stage. Not in Hollywood. Just on stage. Theatre. That’s where my heart belongs. I don’t know if this play is the best chance for me to get there. Professionally. Officially.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ I insist, softening my voice. ‘Look, I’m going to tell you something that I need you to keep between the two of us.’
‘OK …’ Gibitah says doubtfully.
I choose my words carefully, making sure I don’t break any rules by revealing something I shouldn’t. But this doesn’t need to be a secret. In fact, the whole cast should know this, because it would be a great motivator.
‘When Zayan signed on to be part of the play, I asked if he could get some talent scouts, casting agents, directors and industry professionals to be in the audience. He – because he’s just so generous – agreed. Do you know what that means? So many opportunities to be picked up.’
Gibitah’s lips remain turned into a frown. Her eyes swing away from me to the walls of the room. I follow them, noticing that there are picture frames all over the surface – aged sepia photos of actors, actresses, plays that have been performed at the Limelight. I move to stand shoulder to shoulder with Gibitah, taking in the years and years of history that this room is steeped in.
The ache in my chest blossoms into a wholehearted desire to have my picture up there. To be among those stars.
‘And why,’ Gibitah asks, ‘do you think any of those talent scouts would pick me over you? Even if we’re both on an equal footing for talent, equal footing for skill, equal footing for the roles we play, why would anyone pick me over you?’
I know what she’s referring to now. Her implication is startlingly clear.
‘Gibitah, I understand where you’re coming from –’
She rounds on me, angry now. ‘No, you don’t. You don’t understand what it means to be overlooked, ignored. To never be chosen because you’re darker-skinned and there’s someone else out there who fits the criteria better simply because they look whiter. I can’t compete with that.’
I struggle to find the right words, not knowing what will sound patronizing or falsely optimistic.
‘You’re right. I have an unfair advantage. A privilege,’ I admit, cheeks burning in humiliation. I rally, not wanting my ignorance to be the thing that takes away Gibitah’s opportunity. ‘But that’s not why this play is here. It’s not here to give only me an upper hand. It’s here to celebrate all marginalized voices.’
‘Do you know what colourism is?’ Gibitah asks, after I finish.
The words to snap back at her are on the tip of my tongue. Of course I know what colourism is; I’m not ignorant. But the truth is I know what colourism is in the same way I know what photosynthesis is. I know photosynthesis is the process by which plants make their food. I know colourism is a type of prejudice where lighter skin is favoured over darker skin, whether from those of the same race or different races. Both are something I was taught – in a classroom. But I don’t think that’s what Gibitah’s asking me. She doesn’t want some academic definition of the word. She’s asking me if I know how colourism really impacts her every day, and whether I’m aware of how it impacts me.
I lace my hands together and swallow against the ball of shame in my throat before replying. ‘I know – I know what it means, but –’
Gibitah’s voice is a touch cold, but so raw with anger. ‘But not what it really is. You haven’t ever really thought about what privileges you have because of colourism. Don’t you know how insidious it is? How ingrained it is in our culture? It’s more than skin-whitening creams, Farah. It’s in every part of your life. It’s in the opportunities that come your way, or don’t come. It’s growing up being told you’ll probably find it hard to get married one day because darker-skinned girls just aren’t as pretty. It’s having to wear a foundation that doesn’t match your real skin tone just in case it makes you look lighter, or because there’s no foundation available that actually matches your skin shade. It’s being overlooked for jobs because it’s easier to hire a light-skinned brown girl. And in this system, you win. I lose. Do you really get that? Or do you just know what the word means?’
Gibitah’s eyes hold mine, and her question makes my stomach turn.
Colourism.
I may not have hated my friends for their skin tone, or treated them differently, but I stood by while they were facing the brunt of it. Unaware. Ignorant. A silent accomplice. I benefited from a system and didn’t think about how to help anyone else with the privilege I had.
I reach over and grab Gibitah’s hand in my own, holding on tight. ‘I’m sorry for how ignorant I was being before. You’re right; we live in a society that plays favourites, that is full of biases, that is disgustingly prejudiced, and I’m sorry for not acknowledging my privilege. For not standing up when I should have. But, Gibitah, at the heart of all of this, this play is going to give you a chance. To give you an opportunity. It’s not a competition, I promise you. If those talent agents wanted Zayan, they’d just go through Lacey, Zayan’s agent. If they wanted me, they’ve had a million ways of reaching out ever since I started being seen with him. Those casting agents who are coming on opening night are hungry for talent. Lacey is making sure of that. It will not be a repeat of the LSDCATS casting. I promise, you are not a token. You are important, integral, just like Zayan, just like me, just like anyone else in this cast. You will not be overlooked.’
Gibitah’s hand feels tense in mine, and she slowly pulls out of my grasp. ‘Farah, that’s a really sweet gesture. But you can’t guarantee that casting agents won’t come with their own prejudices. You can’t make promises like that. Not when I have a situation that is far more complicated than you probably know.’
Embarrassment turns my cheeks hot as I realize how I’ve made it sound like I can just solve all of Gibitah’s problems, and I find it hard to continue meeting her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, keeping my hands to myself this time. ‘I realize how unrealistic and over-optimistic my plan is, I just – I want to help. In any way. And I want you to stay, but only if you think it will benefit you.’
‘I know you really want things to be different,’ Gibitah replies, her tone less guarded than before. A complicated emotion flickers over her face, like she’s making a decision, but one that doesn’t come lightly. ‘I’ll stay, for the play. I don’t want to work for a racist organization like LSDCATS, and I’d rather support someone who’s willing to try and help the situation than stand by and let it go on.’
My embarrassment from before doesn’t exactly fade away, but it mingles with the relief I feel that Gibitah is staying. I can’t fix Gibitah’s situation. It was naive of me to think I could. But maybe I can help her in some small way – maybe I can be a shoulder to lean on, or maybe I can help force open a door that wouldn’t budge before. All I know is I can’t slap a plaster over Gibitah’s problems – but I can be there for whatever she needs.
